


From These Emerald Waters

by stormqueen873



Series: The Lion and his Lady [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adorable Cullen, Angst, Arguments, Awkward Cullen, BAMFs, Dorian being awesome, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied Eventual Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Implied Sexual Content, Like Hinted, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Minor Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, POV Cullen Rutherford, Romance, Same With Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Teasing, Varric Being Awesome, Varric is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormqueen873/pseuds/stormqueen873
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the events surrounding the rise of the Inquisition in 9:40 and 9:41 Dragon, rumors and stories abound regarding the Inquisitor and her brave commander. These are a few, chronicling their path from acquaintances to friends, and eventually, lovers.</p>
<p>Or, Cullen's POV regarding their romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to one of my first new fics in a while! I have to say, few universes have swallowed me whole as much as Dragon Age has, and while I was an Alistair fangirl, Cullen appeared and that, as they say, was that. I started this story because I couldn't get enough of him, and each chapter is sort of a reaction to the scenes you see with him in-game. I'll include a note at the beginning of each to let you know which one. Some will be relatively short, some will be longer, but all try to show Cullen slowly falling in love.
> 
> One other quick note: I've tried hard not to describe my Inquisitor. There are only two things, I suppose, that are included: her name is Evelyn, and her hairstyle is the intricate braided one. (Think Scout Harding's hairdo.) There may be other minor things, but I wanted her to be as much as possible how the reader created their Inquisitor to be, so it wouldn't throw them from the story because mine doesn't look like theirs. Hopefully I succeeded!
> 
> Un-beta'd - all mistakes are my own.
> 
> This first chapter takes place after your initial flirt opportunity in Haven.

***

_“Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”_

_“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it!”_

Cullen sat on a stool at the tavern bar, drink in hand. His fingers tapped against the metal tankard, and his lips twisted slightly as he stared into the frothing liquid. Maker’s breath, what was the matter with him? He couldn’t get that scrap of conversation from his head, no matter what he did. His attention drifted from reports, from the recruits he watched spar, from conversations with subordinates, until he fled to the Haven tavern in the hopes that some ale might finally shut his mind _up._

No luck, though. The Herald’s voice tripped on repeat whenever it had a chance, and his own reaction –

Well.

The sudden flash of long-forgotten heat when he caught sight of her smile was not precisely unwelcome, but it startled him all the same. It caught him completely flat-footed, and left him pole-axed for just long enough to stifle the conversation. Thank the Maker for the interruption from his subordinate; otherwise, who knew how long he would’ve stood there, struck dumb and foolish.

_Maker knows how terrible I am at personal conversation,_ he thought as he rubbed his eyebrow with his fingers. _Give me a battle strategy or a discussion on troop movement any day._

She wasn’t what he expected at all. Of course he’d heard of the lone survivor of the explosion at the Conclave, but he assumed she was barely alive, not well enough to move and fight. He also heard she was a mage, and he was prepared for her to shun him as a former Templar. It startled him when she sought him out for conversation, and to have her _flirt –_

And _Maker,_ she was beautiful. Those guileless eyes, that lithe frame –

He shook his head. She was a _mage._

He supposed it was only fitting. Considering his history, _of course_ she’d be a mage. Just look at what happened in the Ferelden Circle, when he fell head-over-heels for one Solona Amell. He supposed he should call her Warden-Commander Amell, or Hero of Ferelden, as she was known now. But he knew her when she was simply an apprentice, one that delighted in making him blush and stammer like an idiot.

It was a little awkward, to say the least, when he found out she was in a committed relationship with Leliana. A large part of him hoped Leliana was ignorant of what precisely he said and how he acted on the day Warden-Commander Amell returned to Ferelden’s circle, and if Leliana did know? He hoped she would not let it color her view of him now.

Speaking of now… Now there was another mage, one even more beautiful than the last. Maybe it was a… a _thing_ with him. Pick the one person he was not supposed to even _think_ of, and fall hopelessly in love –

Maker’s breath, why was he stuck on _love?_ They had _one_ conversation. One. He did not know who she was, what her personality was, just that she had some strange magic… mark? Anchor? on her hand, was an agent of the Inquisition, and was possibly the Herald of Andraste. Possibly.

But that smile. _Oh,_ that smile.

He saw it even now, remembered how the sun crept from behind the clouds at just the right moment, illuminating her in such radiance. He saw her eyes, so bright with her joy, and his stomach flipped.

His forehead hit the bar with a groan. The Maker had a _terrible_ sense of humor, when He made their paths cross.

“Everything all right there, Commander?”

_Damn,_ he thought as he lifted his head. A few of his soldiers hovered nearby, eyes wide, and he cursed again under his breath. Public place. He should’ve known he’d find a way to make a fool of himself.

_I seem bound and determined to continue that trend today, after all._

“I’m fine,” he answered as he lifted his tankard to his lips. “I’m fine. Just –”

A peal of laughter cut through the din and shot straight through him.

He looked up; there she sat, tucked in a large chair with her legs folded underneath her. Varric stood in front of the fireplace, with the poker in his hand, and he lunged forward and stumbled, which made her laugh again. Varric grinned, before whirled in place with an exaggerated scowl, and the crowd around him roared with laughter.

A shiver arced down Cullen’s spine. Her head was back, her eyes closed in her mirth, but the firelight caught just _so,_ and another wave of heat crashed through him.

“Enough, Varric,” came Cassandra’s sharp tones as she appeared at the edge of their little area, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Enough. You are being completely disruptive and the servant needs that fire poker.”

“Seeker, it’s a _tavern._ What do you expect?” Varric replied, and he made another sound of protest when Cassandra plucked the poker from his grasp.

“Find a way to tell your story without accidentally bludgeoning your fellow patrons. This is not Kirkwall,” she said as she marched over to the fireplace, and Varric followed her to probably argue more, but the din rose around them, and Cullen couldn’t hear. His gaze flicked back to her, just as those eyes flicked up to meet his –

And oh Andraste preserve him, there it was. That _smile._

He was on his feet so fast he knocked the stool over. A few of his soldiers glanced at him in concern, but he ignored them. He couldn’t stay, not now. That smile was too much for him to take.

He was out of the tavern as fast as his feet could move, and the door banged shut behind him. He stood out in the icy air of the night, and he looked up at the sky; he sighed and his breath ghosted around him in a thin white cloud.

_I must avoid her,_ he thought as his gaze drifted from star to star. _I must. I cannot afford such a distraction now._

Already his hands shook from the lyrium withdrawal, and his mind drifted to the little kit he still kept under his bed. He ached – oh, how he _ached_ for a taste of it. Even to smell –

_No. No!_ That way lay madness. He slammed the door and shook his head, and he started off to the training grounds. He couldn’t sleep now, not with his mind in such a tangle. Better to burn off some of this energy, exhaust himself, than face that little kit with nothing but shaking hands and a powerful reminder that he was not as immune to the charms of a pretty mage as he might wish.

_Find yourself a willing whore,_ his old comrades would tell him. _Anything to snuff out that flame._

But how? Where? They were halfway up the Frostbacks in such tight quarters; the tent he slept in did nothing for privacy, and Cullen was not the sort who wanted the entire camp to hear what he and any lady might get up to.

_Things are not that desperate,_ he thought as he reached the practice dummies, and he righted one. He studied it before he glanced up to the lights of Haven, and the sound of her laughter floated to his ears –

_Yet,_ he thought with a shake of his head. _Now_ focus. _Drive this from you._

He drew his sword and lunged.

***


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between the Herald and the commander, after their discussion on Templars and Templar vows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Takes place in Haven, after the conversation about Templar life.

***

_“And have you taken such vows?”_

Cullen slashed at the training dummy with a _roar._ Why would she ask such a thing? Why would it matter? He had her out of his head, and then _that_ horrible question, and suddenly there she was, with her dancing eyes and smiling lips, teasing him, sending him into a stammering, stuttering mess.

_She’s thinking about us. About me,_ he thought as he whirled and drove his sword deep into the straw of the dummy. _Isn’t she? She wouldn’t ask if I’d taken a vow of_ chastity _if she wasn’t!_

Unless she wanted to make a fool out of him. Unless she wanted to see him blush and stumble over his words – she was a mage, after all. Mages of all sorts took delight in taunting their Templar jailers. She must be no different. She must see him as nothing more than a Templar, one in a position of subordination for the first time in her life, and free to toy with as she saw fit.

_Damn it. Damn it all!_

He spun and _slashed –_

The head of the dummy rolled across the snow and he lowered his sword. He breathed hard through his nose and he tugged off one of his gloves to drag the back of his hand across his forehead. Sweat. Not entirely from his exertions either; the pull grew a little less each day, but he still had episodes that left him drenched and shaking and weak.

“Another,” he growled as he sheathed his sword and pulled his glove back on.

“But ser –”

“I said _another!”_ he barked, and his gaze snapped up to the soldier. The young man paled and fled the field, and Cullen turned to take down the destroyed dummy.

“You’re going to be waiting a while.”

His hands froze on the leather ties and he _cursed_ at how his stomach flipped. He took a moment to steel his expression – it wouldn’t do to let her see just how much she affected him – and he turned to face her.

“Herald,” he greeted with a polite nod. “Why will I be waiting a while?”

She smiled and nodded back, as she crouched down and picked up the severed straw head. “Because you’ve destroyed the last one,” she replied as she straightened back up. “You might want to avoid our stable master for a while. He’s taken to chasing off your soldiers with pitchforks to keep his supply of straw safe.”

Cullen winced. “I…” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize our supply was so low. That was remiss of me. I will see it corrected.”

She shook her head and took a step closer to him. He resisted the urge to take a step back. “Commander,” she said as she looked up at him. “I’ve been told that you’ve been out here every night, and now nearly every free moment in the day, hacking away at these things. It can’t all be a desire to remain sharp and ready.”

Her eyes searched his face, and he swallowed. “It… it is a personal matter, my lady,” he said as he dipped his head a little, and – was he just imagining it, or was that a flash of disappointment on her face?

He tried not to stiffen when she took another step, one into his space, and – and thank the Maker, she did not touch him. But his heart still pounded all the same.

_“Cullen,”_ she murmured, and oh, he thought it couldn’t be worse. To know now what his name sounded like, falling from her lips –

“Cullen,” she continued, breaking into his thoughts. “Surely we are comrades, if not friends. You are the commander of this Inquisition. I – well, I am an agent and a member of its council. If something has happened to upset you, if anyone has done or said anything, you must let me know.”

“Why?”

The word was out of his mouth and he bit back a curse. Her eyes widened a little, and he fought the urge to take her arm, to reassure her he meant no offense.

“I meant… Andraste preserve me, I simply meant that there is nothing you could do,” he said with a shake of his head. “Even if someone upset me, or bothered me, I would handle it myself. I wouldn’t come running to another member of this council and see it handled by them.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That is a weakness that is unsuited for one who is a leader.”

He met her gaze as steadily as he could, and some of the tension went from her shoulders.

“Very well,” she said with a nod. “As you say. I will not ask as someone seeking to right a wrong. Instead, I will ask as a friend.”

“My lady –”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Surely you can tell a friend,” she pressed, and when Cullen shook his head, she frowned. “Something has upset you, Cullen. Everyone in the camp can see that. If you won’t tell me what has happened, you must tell another. Perhaps… perhaps Cassandra?”

There was a note to her voice when she said the Seeker’s name that made part of him sit up. Jealousy? Was that jealousy?

“No,” he said with another shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t go to Cassandra with this. As I said –”

“A personal matter, yes,” she interrupted, as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Is it something someone has said to you? Is that –?”

He must’ve flinched, because her eyes went wide. “Surely it wasn’t something _I_ said to you,” she murmured, and she made a soft hissing sound when Cullen looked away. “What was it, then? What did I say that upset you so? Was it my questions about the Order?”

“It’s nothing,” he said with yet another shake of his head, but she reached out and touched his crossed arms –

_Oh,_ what he wouldn’t give to actually feel her fingertips, instead of the faint pressure of them on his vambrace. He met her gaze with wide eyes, and she shook her head.

“If it upset you, I apologize,” she said. “When I asked such things, I was merely curious. The Circle at Ostwick was… very different, I suppose. I have two brothers in service to the Chantry, both of whom are part of the Templar Order. I have asked them many times about the Order, but they are never very frank with me. I simply wanted my questions answered.”

Her fingers tightened on his arm, and he swallowed, unable to speak a word.

“As for the rest of it, I must apologize for that too,” she continued, and her gaze dropped. “If such… attentions were unwelcome, I will of course stop them, and –”

“They are not,” Cullen blurted, and he cursed when his cheeks heated. “That is to say… I mean… Maker’s _breath –”_

She let out a soft little giggle, one that made his cheeks flame brighter, and he took a step back. She took a step forward, following him and she graced him with the sweetest smile.

“Then I won’t,” she said and he sighed. Something on his face made her smile fade, and he fought off a wince. “It’s because I am a mage, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here, tearing apart our supply of training dummies.”

“That… is part of it,” he hedged as he met her gaze, and her eyes turned steely. “My history with them has not been the best.”

“Isn’t that true for any Templar?” she murmured. “You are trained to see us at our worst, when we have failed our Harrowing, or fled the Circle. You are taught to see us as tools, as beings less than yourselves.” She shook her head. “And you are not entirely to blame. We are taught to see you as our jailers, as our oppressors. So it is understandable that a Templar would be suspicious of the interest of a mage. Perhaps I sought to ruin you, for past slights done by another. You can never be certain if I am in earnest or not.”

She studied his face. “Am I at all close?”

He nodded slightly. “…you are. You are uncannily accurate, honestly,” he murmured, and her expression softened.

“I want you to consider something for me,” she said with a small smile. “Yes, you are – were a Templar, and yes, I am a mage. But here… in this Inquisition, I am not your charge, nor you, my keeper. I am, perhaps, your Herald, and you are my commander.”

Cullen’s eyes widened as he looked at her, and she looked back steadily. “Are we not equals here?” she asked as she touched his arm once more. “Are we not two people who seek to make this group prosper and thrive? Are we not united in our effort to see this evil defeated? And perhaps…”

She drew a deep breath and her hand tightened on his arm. “Perhaps, are we not two people who could see beyond our old labels of Templar and Mage, and become trusted colleagues, if not friends?”

Cullen stood, rooted to the ground, unable to look away from her. He understood now, why Cassandra was so impressed with her, and spoke of her in grudging, respectful tones. She took what you expected from her and turned it promptly on its head.

“I…” he began, when he realized she waited for his reply. “I… you are right. Forgive me.” He bowed his head slightly. “It is unworthy of me to hold onto such old prejudices.”

“Not at all,” she replied as he looked up. “I think I might wonder about your intentions if you didn’t.”

She winked at him, and his cheeks flamed again. She laughed and squeezed his arm. “Varric wants all of us to play a game of Wicked Grace tonight,” she said as she finally stepped back. “I think that you should come. Even if you won’t play. It would be nice to have someone explain the rules to me, as someone who doesn’t have a vested interest in seeing me lose.”

“I –” Oh curse it all, where was his tongue? Glued to the roof of his mouth, of course. “I think I might be able to do that.”

Her grin lit up her entire face and oh, he how he wanted to kiss her. He coughed and swallowed and looked away, and she patted his arm.

“Excellent. Sundown, at the tavern. Don’t be late,” she said before she darted off, and he watched her go with his heart in his throat.

_Friends,_ he thought as he sucked in a breath. _Perhaps I should try for friends. Is that what she’s saying? Perhaps that’s what I need. A chance to really get to know her. A chance to see if she is genuine. And worthy of my trust…_

Of course, wanting to grab her and kiss her senseless against the nearest hard surface would make things, well, ha- _difficult –_

He rubbed the back of his neck and fought off a groan. Maker give him strength, this was not going to be easy.

But hopefully… His heart lightened, and the tremor in his hand steadied just slightly. Hopefully it would be worth it.

***


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack on Haven, Cullen and Dorian share a chat, and a bottle of liquor. Cullen mourns what could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the attack on Haven, and includes a few bits taken directly from the game.

***

_“Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way.”_

Cullen stared into the fire, forearms braced on his thighs, a bottle of… well, he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ it was, dangling from his fingertips. It was powerful, it was alcoholic, and, with luck, it would dull the horrible ache that settled in the vicinity of his heart the moment he saw that avalanche cover what remained of Haven.

_I asked her to die,_ he thought as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. _I asked her to give us time and she buried herself to keep us safe. Maker’s breath… I mistrusted her. I doubted her character. I thought she would slip away sometime in the night the moment the shackles were off. She was a_ mage. _How could I expect any less?_

He was a fool. She proved over and over that she could be trusted, that she was steadfast and true, and yet, every morning, he was surprised to see her lingering around the campfire, serving up porridge and sausages and coffee and tea, chatting with Varric and the others. How could he let that part hold him back from reaching out to her? How could he let his own nature – he always grew so flustered with flirting – stand in the way of telling her just how lovely he found her, that he wanted to hold her and kiss her and –

_Enough,_ he told himself as he took another pull. Tonight, he would allow himself to grieve her loss on a personal level. But only tonight. The Inquisition was in tatters, the men and women hanging by a thread. Even now, he felt their gaze heavy on his back, as tucked away from the main group as he was. Come the morning, they would look to him for direction, and he would need to give it.

But tonight… tonight was oblivion. Tonight was for squandered opportunity and deep regrets.

“May I?”

Cullen looked up and his eyebrows lifted at the sight of Dorian.

“Yes, yes, I know, powerful former Templar, sworn enemy of mages, etcetera, etcetera, why would I ask to sit with you?” Dorian said as he stuck his hands over the fire. “Three reasons. One, you happen to flinch the least whenever I show my pretty face. Two, it _also_ happens to be ball-breakingly _freezing,_ just in case no one noticed, and _three,_ you have the best fire around. So. May I join you?”

Cullen blinked a little at the expectant look on Dorian’s face, before he gestured to the log across from him and Dorian flopped down and shivered.

“Andraste’s flaming tits, it is _cold._ I’ll never guess what I was bloody thinking, coming to a blighted _tundra_. This is the _last_ time I let that noble hair up my ass make my decisions,” Dorian said with a shake of his head, and Cullen offered him his bottle with a silent lift of his eyebrow.

Dorian blinked and took it. “Hm! That’s charitable of you, thank you,” he said as he took a long swig and coughed. _“Well._ And here I thought all your liquor would taste like piss.”

“Not all of it,” Cullen agreed as Dorian handed the bottle back. “This one tastes like fire _and_ piss.”

Dorian threw his head back and laughed, and Cullen couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I knew there was a sense of humor under that terrible scowl,” Dorian said with a grin. “So. What are we drinking to? Our strategic retreat and survival, I hope.”

Cullen’s smile vanished and he took a long pull of the bottle. He didn’t reply, and Dorian’s smile dimmed.

“Ah,” Dorian said, in a gentle tone that made Cullen bristle. “Lovers, hm? Let me find you another bottle. That one is not going to last much longer.”

Cullen blinked up at him. “…what?” he managed, and Dorian blinked back at him.

“What?” Dorian replied, and Cullen frowned.

“You aren’t… you aren’t going to tell me how sorry you are, or… that it will get easier, or…” Cullen trailed off with a shake of his head.

Dorian sat back on the log with a quiet sound. “My dear Commander, why would I waste time filling the air with such annoying platitudes?” he said as he threaded his fingers together and clasped them over his knee. “And they _are_ annoying. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. Having never lost a lover, especially one as pretty and charming as our dear Lady Trevelyan, I cannot reliably tell you any of that is true. And I deplore speaking falsehoods.”

Cullen opened his mouth, and closed it. “We weren’t lovers,” he said at last, and he looked down at the bottle. “We weren’t anything. Comrades. Perhaps friends.”

“Ah,” Dorian murmured. “Well. That’s worse, isn’t it? Wasted opportunity, and all that. Now that? That I can speak to.” He reached out and plucked the bottle from Cullen’s fingers and took a long pull. “Part of you is always going to carry it. To think on it wistfully in your loneliest moments. But it will fade. Eventually.”

Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. “I know,” he murmured as he took the bottle back. “This isn’t the first time I’ve lost someone.”

“That so?” Dorian asked as he scooted closer to the fire and held out his hands once more. Cullen simply made a sound at the back of his throat as he watched him, and he finally handed him the bottle.

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?” Cullen asked as Dorian plucked up the bottle. “Why haven’t you just… conjured yourself a fireball, or something to keep you warm?”

Dorian made a sound like a quiet snort. “Do you know the magical drain on a mage to do something like that? I’d be lucky to keep a sustained fireball alight for perhaps a minute. Energy needs energy, Commander. And spells requiring time will take more energy from you than others. Sometimes perhaps more than you can give.”

Dorian shook his head. “Even in Tevinter, magic works the same, you know. The laws of nature still apply, even though we like to pretend they don’t.” He paused and grinned. “Though I will say, having people think I can summon an army of demons whenever they look at me crosswise does _wonders_ for the ego.”

Cullen frowned. “Mages could still destroy an entire village in a fit of anger,” he said as he plucked the bottle back, and Dorian snorted.

“Possibly, but why bother? You set the person who slighted you alight and you walk away,” he said as he shook his head. “Listen, not _all_ of us are complete and bloody bastards. Many of us even know how to behave. And we understand that magic has a price.” Dorian smirked. “It’s not _all_ simply raining down heavenly fire upon your enemies, as lovely as that sounds.

“Besides,” Dorian continued, “anyone with the right tools could destroy an entire village. Don’t think I don’t know about Dwarven blasting powder. Or even raw lyrium, laced into a village’s water supply. Or a whole host of other things.” Dorian waved a hand. “Yes, perhaps mages have the easiest access to the most destructive tools, but it is the person that will determine whether or not they act on those horrible designs.”

Cullen hummed in thought, and Dorian leaned back. “But if it makes you feel any better, many of us barely have the power to light a candle, let alone set an entire building on fire.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “We don’t _all_ shoot fire from our asses.”

“Oh no?” Cullen asked as he lifted an eyebrow and Dorian grinned.

“Of course not,” he said as he leaned forward. “Some of us shoot lightning.”

Cullen let out a laugh, surprised into it, and he shook his head when Dorian winked at him. “You know, you’re not so bad,” he said as he took a long swig from the bottle. “For a mage.”

Dorian grinned. “And you’re not so bad, for a Templar. Though I can’t say I’ve had much experience with them. You certainly have more personality than any in Tevinter,” he replied as he took the bottle back and drained it. He shuddered and tossed the bottle aside. “Blech. Well, you’ve got excellent taste in liquor, I’ll give you that. This one is perfect for oblivion. Shall we find another? And drink to our dear Herald’s sacrifice?”

Cullen nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll see what I can find,” he said as he wobbled a little but held steady. Dorian waved a hand and scooted closer to the fire, still shivering, but nowhere near as badly as he did earlier.

_I’ll see if I can find him a blanket too,_ Cullen thought as he walked into the heart of the camp. _I should find Josephine. She’ll know where our supplies are._

Cullen held himself upright as tightly as he could, even as his legs felt like pudding. The last thing he needed was to stumble into a tent and have it known around the camp that the commander was completely sauced.

_I am not drunk. I know my limits,_ he told himself, and he blinked when one of Leliana’s scouts appeared before him. He peered at the young woman, and she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Yes, Soldier?” he said as he drew himself up and rested his hands on the hilt of his sword. “Do you have something to report?”

“Yes, ser,” she replied. “Scouts report three approaching individuals. We cannot be certain, but one appears to be a dwarf.”

Cullen sucked in a breath. _Three._ Three individuals. Oh Maker, did he dare hope –

“Where?” he demanded as he grabbed her arm, and she pointed. He took off without another word, running through the camp. He didn’t care what sort of reaction it might cause among his soldiers, or the villagers; he _ran,_ his heart pounding in his ribs.

_Please,_ he thought, with every ounce of his being. _Please let her be among those three. Sweet Andraste, please let your herald be there._

He left the glow of the camp, and plunged into the tree line, and sure enough, three figures materialized among the shadows. He slowed to a halt, his breath coming in great white clouds, and he lifted his voice.

“Herald?” he called, straining his eyes –

“Commander!”

His heart clenched. “Cassandra,” he said, as he closed the distance between them, and his stomach bottomed out. Cassandra led Varric and Solas through the heavy drift, and all three wore the same dark expression that made him close his eyes.

“What happened? Are you all right?” he asked once he steeled himself, and Cassandra gripped his arm.

“Bruised,” Varric answered before Cassandra could, and he stamped his feet. “But whole. Please say you’ve got fires going nearby. I can’t feel my feet. And Chuckles’s ears have icicles.”

Solas said nothing to contradict Varric, and merely turned his gaze to Cullen, who stepped to the side.

“Through the trees. Find Josephine. She will find you a place to sleep,” Cullen said and he looked back at Cassandra, who watched Varric and Solas stamp through the snow to reach the camp. Her hand still gripped his arm, and once they were out of earshot, she turned her gaze to Cullen.

“How did you make it out?” Cullen asked. “What happened?”

“There was a network of tunnels beneath the village,” Cassandra said with a slight shake of her head. “We barely made it into one before the avalanche was upon us. Lady Trevelyan…”

Cassandra pressed her lips together, and Cullen closed his eyes. “I am sorry, Cullen,” Cassandra murmured. “The last I saw of her, she faced down that dragon and the Elder One.” She shook her head. “She managed to set off the avalanche, and I pray that she found her way into a tunnel as we did.”

Cullen bowed his head slightly. “But you do not think she did,” he murmured, and he took a step back.

“No,” Cassandra said with another shake of her head. “I do not see how she could have. The Elder One would have killed her the moment he saw the avalanche bearing down upon them, of that I am certain.”

Cullen let out a long breath. “Then we have lost our Herald,” he murmured as he met Cassandra’s gaze. “And without her, what becomes of this Inquisition?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Cassandra replied. “We should convene with Leliana and Josephine to discuss our next step. The world is still in chaos. We are not even certain if our enemy is dead.”

“The dragon escaped,” Cullen said as he turned back towards the camp. “We saw it fly off, just as the snow buried Haven.” His jaw clenched. “And if it survived, you can bet this Elder One did as well.”

Cassandra glanced at him, but she said nothing. He knew her thoughts ran similar to his own; with their enemy still in play, their sacrifices were for nothing. _Her_ sacrifice was for nothing. They were beaten; he was not certain if they could recover. Not without infrastructure to support them.

But where could they go? No one would dare shelter them, not after Haven. They proved themselves incapable of protecting anyone. And he was certain it would take all of Josephine’s diplomatic skills to ensure they remained supplied.

“Commander –”

“Commander!”

Cassandra cut off when Leliana raced towards them, flanked by a pair of her soldiers. Cullen shared a look with Cassandra before he looked back at her, and she slid to a halt before them. Her eyes were wide, her chest heaving.

“Another figure approaches,” she said, breathless, and Cullen’s eyes went wide. “Around the rocks. My scouts could not see much, just that it was alone and struggling.”

_Struggling,_ he thought as he whirled and tore off towards the towering rock formation. He heard Cassandra and Leliana crunching after him, but he did not slow. He couldn’t. He had to know. He didn’t dare _hope –_

He rounded the corner and –

_Oh sweet, blessed Andraste!_ He shouted something; he wasn’t sure what. But it was _her._ She fell to her knees, one hand tight around her middle, but their gazes met, and he slid to a halt before her. Her eyes were dazed, and he dropped to his knees, heart pounding, as Cassandra and the others fanned out around them. He couldn’t speak – he couldn’t believe it –

She gave him the smallest, the best smile and she tumbled towards him. He caught her, steadied her, and he looked up when Cassandra reached out and touched her hair. Leliana had her hands over her mouth, and both soldiers grinned from ear to ear.

“She’s _alive,”_ Cassandra said with a shake of her head. “Thank the _Maker,_ she is alive.”

Cullen clutched her shoulders, though he desperately wanted to embrace her. He looked down at her as she turned her face against his neck, and he tried not to yelp at how cold her cheeks were.

“Found a way,” she murmured and he let out a choked laugh. She went limp against him, and he closed his eyes; her breath against his neck was the only thing that kept him from panicking.

“Let’s get her back to camp,” Cassandra said and Cullen looked up at her. “I don’t know how she survived, but she must be injured worse than us. She barely made it back.”

“I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened, had I not ordered my scouts to monitor our borders,” Leliana agreed, and Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. He gathered her up against him and stood; when one of the other soldiers stepped forward to help, he shook his head. He knew it was the drink making him so bold, but no one was going to touch her. Not yet.

She didn’t make a sound, simply turned her face to the fur on his armor as he gripped her shoulder, and he turned towards the camp. A healer would see to her, of course, but for now, she was under his protection.

He heard Leliana and Cassandra murmuring to each other as he walked through the snow back to the camp, but he ignored their conversation. He wanted nothing to distract from the feel of her in his arms, the weight of her, the ghost of her breath against his neck. She was _alive,_ against all odds, and she was exactly where he wanted her, whole in his arms. For this moment, he could imagine things were different between them, that he wasn’t a first-class idiot when it came to speaking with her, that he told her everything he wanted to, and she reciprocated.

_Things will be different,_ he told himself as he walked. _They will be different. I will not allow our previous state of affairs to stand. I have been given a second chance. She is_ alive _and I will not waste it._

What happened in Haven, it would _not_ happen again. He would not be forced to ask her to sacrifice herself for the rest of their Inquisition. He did not care what it took from him, but he would see it done.

_You will be safe,_ he thought as he reached the glow of the camp, and a great shout rose up around him. People pressed in on all sides, desperate to see her, but he pulled her tighter against him, and Cassandra shoved them back. He looked down at her, and oh, he wanted to kiss her even more than ever.

_Never again. I will protect you as best I can,_ he thought as his jaw clenched. _This I swear. This I_ swear.

***


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet chess match between friends, edging towards something more. Cullen learns a little about Evelyn's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because, apparently, I am a sucker for Regency Austen, this chapter feels very much like that moment when the two love interests finally confess to each other.
> 
> Set in Skyhold, after the initial chess match.

***

“So you have a brother and two sisters?” she asked and Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. His gaze flicked up from the chessboard and he arched an eyebrow.

“I do believe you are trying to distract me, my lady,” he said as he threaded his fingers together, and she gave him a teasing smile. “You are, aren’t you? You know you’re going to lose this game, and you’re trying to distract me.”

“My dear Commander, I am not going to lose,” she said as she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. She made a face and shifted; the uniform she wore was not her standard affair. “If I wanted to distract you, I’d be up on this chair stripping out of this ridiculous costume.”

Cullen choked and she grinned. “Now that was uncalled for,” he said and his ears burned when she winked at him.

“It’s worked, hasn’t it? You’re certainly not thinking about your next move,” she said as she tugged at the belted tunic, and Cullen made a face. Both he and she were dressed for the reception of the ambassadors from Orlais and Ferelden, which meant matching uniforms to show solidarity.

However, the only solidarity it seemed to foster was the mutual suffering of anyone forced into it. And where Josephine found one for the Iron Bull… well, Cullen supposed there were some things better left unasked.

“…they really are awful, aren’t they?” he said as he tugged at his collar, and she smiled. “Who gave Josephine these colors? Not that I mind red. But I’d rather have gone without hearing Madame Vivienne’s complaints on the subject.”

She laughed softly. “Well, we’re here now, away from all of that,” she said as she finally reached out and moved a piece. Cullen watched her lean back before he turned his gaze down to the board.

“So we are,” he murmured as he considered his move. “You don’t mind that we’re in my office and not the garden?”

“I should be asking you that,” she said with a shake of her head. “We agreed to these games as a way for us to relax.” She grinned. “As a way to get you to stop working. And holding it in your office doesn’t remove you from your work at all.”

Cullen rolled his eyes a little. “Yes, well, our usual spot has been taken over by Orlesian ladies-in-waiting,” he said with a shake of his head. “Our offices are the only haven left until they leave, and mine doesn’t have twenty flights of stairs to reach it.”

It also didn’t have a bed right across from his desk – a gigantic Free Marches four-poster he couldn’t help but imagine her in – but he didn’t voice that part.

She made a soft sound. “My office does not have twenty flights of stairs to reach it. In fact,” she said with a shake of her head, “it has only one.”

“One that spirals up forever,” he interrupted and she swatted at him. He grinned and she sniffed and lifted her chin.

“Well, yours has at least four,” she said. “Not to mention any number of doors, and the sheer number of open spaces for soldiers or courtiers to ambush you.”

Cullen smirked slightly. “It depends on the path you take,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes and smiled. “But yes, I have siblings. I’ve told you about them before. I think I want to hear about your family before I start yammering on about mine again.”

“My family?” she said with a blink, and Cullen focused down on the board. It was his turn, and the last thing he wanted was to make a mistake. “What would you like to know about them?”

“You mentioned brothers?” he prompted, glancing up, and then back down. He ran his finger along his jaw, considering; her queen was poised to take his bishop, but if he moved his rook and took the pawn nearest her king, he might put her on the defensive…

“I’m the second youngest of five, and the only mage in a long line of non-mages,” she said as she leaned back in her chair. “Which is surprising, considering we trace our roots all the way back to Tevinter. It is speculated that the Trevelyans broke from our Tevinter relatives because they were a group of non-mages floundering in the world of mages and magisters.”

She hummed. “Did you know that Dorian and I are related? Distant cousins, in fact.” She grinned. “He told me the other day he fully expects his father to send me a letter of introduction, hoping to affiance me to his wayward son. It’d be quite an advantageous match, after all.” She shook her head. “I told him, though, there is no guarantee I’d produce mage children, considering my family line, so I assured him he was quite safe on that front.”

Cullen frowned as he looked up at her. “Was he actually _proposing_ to you?” he asked, trying to ignore the jealous _twist_ in his belly. Dorian was handsome, charming, a mage like her, and, not to mention, a noble. And if their families shared a noble line, marriage would reunite that. Wasn’t that what nobles liked to do? Keep all the wealth in one house, so to speak?

He tried to shove those thoughts down; he dwelled upon them sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, when the lyrium called stronger than ever. What did he, a simple soldier, with barely a handful of gold to his name and no titles beyond the Inquisition, have to offer the beautiful Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick? He had no land, not even a roof to call his own over his head; he had perhaps, a tent, but what sort of family would allow their daughter to wed a man whose belongings all fit on the back of his horse?

 _Enough,_ he told himself. _Enough. You and she have only just become friends. And you would push it out to marriage? You are not even certain that she cares for you beyond comradeship, despite what you might think. Or wish._

She laughed, breaking him from his thoughts, and she shook her head. “Oh Maker, no,” she said as she clasped her hands over her knee. “Dorian is not the sort to marry. Ever.” Her eyes danced. “You know his preference, yes? It certainly isn’t for the fairer sex.”

Cullen dropped his rook. “What?” he asked, looking up at her with wide eyes. “He…?”

“You truly had no idea?” she said as she tilted her head to one side. “I’ve had to ask his intentions towards you a few times.”

Cullen _choked._ “What?” he asked again, and she threaded her fingers together as she planted her elbows on the edge of his desk. “I hope he’s not – I mean, I don’t – I like Dorian, but – he’s –”

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Relax, Cullen,” she murmured, and he sucked in a breath. His heart pounded in his ears; it was the first time she touched him without his armor in the way, and the weight of her fingertips was like a brand against his arm. “Dorian considers you a friend. Nothing more.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the chessboard. “Good,” he said as he reached out and righted his rook; her hand was still on his other arm, and he couldn’t bring himself to move it. “The last thing I want is to cause undue heartache in anyone.”

His fingers lingered on the rook and his voice softened. “I know all too well what it is to have your feelings unrequited.” He shook his head. “I would not wish that pain on anyone.”

She made a sound at the back of her throat, and he looked up at her. Their gazes met and held, and her hand slid down his arm to his hand, lingering on the back of it. He longed to turn his hand over, to twine their fingers together, to rise to his feet and let everything he held back spill forth –

He sucked in a breath. _Courage._ “Lady –”

Her hand curled over his, and squeezed. “Evelyn,” she interrupted, and there was a tremor in her voice that set his heart pounding anew. “Please. Please call me Evelyn. If only when we are here. If you can’t –”

“Evelyn,” he breathed out, interrupting her, and a shiver went down his spine. The smile that lit up her face was brighter than any he’d seen before, and his ears flamed. He met her gaze as steadily as he could, and he swallowed, his mouth dry. “Evelyn, I –”

 _“Here_ you two are!”

The moment broke. They snatched their hands back and looked up at Cassandra, who stood in the doorway with her hands planted on her hips. She scowled at them, and Cullen wanted nothing more than to grab her by the back of her red tunic and throw her over the nearest parapet.

“What is it, Cassandra?” she – Lady Trevelyan – _Evelyn –_ damn it all, he didn’t know what to call her now – asked as she folded her hands in her lap, and Cassandra walked towards them.

“You’ve been missed among the distinguished guests,” she said as she eyed their chessboard. “Josephine is looking everywhere for you. She’s not happy that you disappeared. The ambassadors from Orlais and Ferelden are feeling neglected.”

“Oh for –” she hissed as she got to her feet. “It must be nearly two in the morning! Do these people never sleep?”

“It’s closer to three, the last time I checked,” Cassandra said. “And if you wanted to be excused, there is protocol that must be followed. You know that better than anyone. Surely the rules are the same in the court at Ostwick.”

She made a face. “No, I wouldn’t know. I spent much of my time sequestered in Ostwick’s Circle,” she said before she looked over at Cullen. Her gaze was apologetic, and he shook his head with a small smile.

“Duty calls,” he said as he stood to join them. Cassandra glanced between them and lifted an eyebrow, but she said nothing else as she led them out of the room. Eve- _Lady Trevelyan_ fell back into step beside him and her arm brushed his.

“Save that game for me, Commander,” she murmured and he swallowed and nodded.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he replied, and he glanced up at Cassandra’s back before he murmured. _“Evelyn.”_

A real blush stole across her features, and his heart pounded. _Soon,_ he promised himself, as he watched her quicken her pace to walk with Cassandra. _I will tell her. I will tell her everything. As soon as we have a quiet moment._

Until then… her name would haunt his dreams in the best possible way.

***


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen attempts poetry. Cullen fails at poetry. Varric helps. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the first kiss shared against the battlements, in Skyhold, but before the visit to the lake.

***

_And your eyes are like… like…_

“Damn it all,” Cullen hissed as he stared down at the blotted piece of paper before him. He chewed on the back of his pen – he would bite right through it at this rate. How did people write love poems anyway? The stories his sisters loved when they were younger were full of handsome young men calling out to his lady-love underneath her balcony and reading her a damn _stack_ of the things. And here he sat, unable to even write _one._

He drew a big scribble through the mess and crumpled it up, before he hurled it at the door. It bounced and landed in the pile with all his previous attempts, and his forehead hit the desk.

Well, it wasn’t like he could serenade her anyway. Her balcony was far beyond the reach of grappling hooks, let alone a ladder. He thought perhaps he could write something to leave on her pillow when she returned from her latest mission, but it seemed that poetry was a skill well beyond him.

“Problem, Curly?”

_Oh Blight take me,_ he thought as he lifted his head. Of all the people to walk in on him now, it had to be Varric. The _writer._

“What is it, Master Tethras?” he asked as he smoothed his face. Varric stood in the opened side door, and the pile of failed poetry was obvious from that angle. Perhaps if he’d come through the door opposite, the pile would’ve been swept behind it, and Cullen’s shame would go unnoticed. Now he had to pretend it didn’t exist, and hope that Varric’s curiosity wouldn’t get the better of him.

_Ha,_ he thought when he saw Varric’s gaze land on the paper. _Even quicker than expected._

“Leave it,” he commanded, as he set the pen down. “Do you have a report for me?”

“Yeah,” Varric said and he knelt down and picked one up. “Everything I can recall about red lyrium. Nothing left out. You think it’ll help you trace that Samson guy?”

He set the report on Cullen’s desk and Cullen reached for the paper in Varric’s fingers, but Varric snatched it back.

“What has you so frazzled, Commander?” he asked with a grin, unfolding it, and Cullen got to his feet so fast, the chair slammed against the ground. “Oh come on, you know your secret is safe with me. I’m so good of a secret keeper, even Cassandra didn’t realize it.”

“And it is quite a sore point with her,” Cullen said as he darted in to grab for the paper, but Varric was faster. “Will you hand that over?! It is private!”

“Not a chance, Curly,” Varric said, and he grinned. “Hey Sparkler! Catch!”

Cullen whirled to see where Dorian was, ready to snatch the paper from the air –

There was no one there. He _hissed_ and whirled back to Varric, who was halfway across the room and reading the paper. Cullen _groaned_ and fell back against his desk.

“All right, damn you, it’s my sad attempt at poetry,” he muttered as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I should have you thrown out of the Inquisition, you know. This is insubordination of the highest degree.”

“Good thing your new lady-friend likes me,” Varric said as he glanced up from the paper, and Cullen made a face.

“Maker, is there no one who knows?” Cullen hissed as he dragged a hand down his face. “We only _just_ …”

Varric grinned back at him. “Oh, everyone knows,” he said as he smoothed out the paper. “Curly, and it didn’t _just_ happen. It happened _yesterday._ On a _rampart,_ in full view of the entire Inquisition, who, I think we both know, are worse than the Orlesian court when it comes to gossip.”

Varric paused. “You’ve also got a strange ghost-boy, capable of broadcasting your inner thoughts to the whole camp,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not to mention, our lovely Inquisitor has been Thedas’s most eligible bachelorette for a while now. People have been dying to know if she’d pick someone.”

Cullen made an alarmed sound at the back of his throat, and Varric shook his head. “Stop worrying,” he said as he reached out and patted Cullen’s arm. “She’s ass over teakettle in love with you. Everyone can see it. We even took bets on how long it might take you. Which, by the way, still needs to be settled. Did she kiss you first, or did you kiss her? I’ve got a pretty penny riding on it –”

Cullen _glared_ at Varric, who trailed off and held up his hands. “My private affairs are _not_ for the amusement of this Inquisition,” he snapped as his shoulders tensed, and Varric lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, no, of course not,” Varric said with a shake of his head. “But c’mon, Curly. You know what it’s like to be one of the rank-and-file. You can’t tell me you didn’t bet on the color of Meredith’s unmentionables from time to time.”

Cullen made a face, but he fidgeted. “…not Meredith’s, no,” he said and Varric grinned.

“Someone else’s, then,” he said as he clasped his elbows with his hands. “Look, it’s just a little harmless stress-relief. No need to get so defensive. We’re all rooting for you. For both of you. You’ve cracked three smiles today, and that’s three more than usual.”

Cullen’s shoulders eased slightly, and Varric reached out and slapped his arm.

“Tell you what. I could give you some tips. I’ve written my fair-share of romance novels. Just ask Cassandra about them,” he said as he held up the piece of paper. “If you wanted my advice, of course. If you wanted to write something for the fair maid Trevelyan.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched and he arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t say no.

Varric held up a hand. “I’m not gonna sugar-coat it, Curly,” he said, and he wiggled the paper a little. “This? It’s… pretty bad. But you’ve got potential. You’ve got the heart, and that’s important.”

“Anything else?” Cullen asked through clenched teeth, and Varric nodded.

“Look, maybe poetry just isn’t your thing. Poetry is _hard,”_ he said as he finally handed the paper back to Cullen. “So stop trying. Stop describing her, and just tell her how you feel. A simple note of ‘I love you’ can mean more than all the pages of flowery language describing the tiny mole on her left ass cheek.”

Cullen _choked._ “…women actually enjoy that?” he asked, voice weak, and Varric shrugged.

“Not the women I’ve been with,” he said with a shake of his head. “But maybe. If you can think it up, there’s someone who enjoys it. Trust me.”

Cullen swallowed and nodded a little.

“And just go to the gardens, pick one of the prettiest flowers you can find, and put it and the note on her desk,” Varric said as he finally handed the piece of paper back to him. “With women, the simpler the better, and the more direct the better. Don’t leave them in doubt about anything. They’ll stew and overthink, and suddenly you’re an ogre who hates them and everything about them.”

“I _do_ have two sisters,” Cullen said, with an amused twist to his lips, and Varric arched an eyebrow.

“Sisters do not prepare you for a lady-friend,” Varric said with a shake of his head. “Completely different dynamic. And our dear Lady Trevelyan is far more sensible than half the women I’ve met, but she’s still a lady. And I promise you, she’ll be shaken if you ever leave her in doubt about any bit of your relationship.”

Cullen pressed his lips together. “And the last thing we can afford is such a thing,” he murmured, and Varric nodded.

“She’s already got the fate of the world on her shoulders,” he said as Cullen leaned heavily back against his desk. “Help her hold it. Distract her in the best possible way. Give her the strength of something to fight for. But don’t you dare add to it.”

Varric’s expression darkened and Cullen’s eyebrows flew up. “And while I’m on that subject, I don’t think it really needs to be said, but if you break her heart? Bianca’s got an arrow with your name on it.”

Cullen opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a long moment. “You’re threatening me?” he finally managed, and Varric nodded.

“Of course I am,” he said. “She has three brothers, but none of them are here to defend her. Not that she’d need them to. She probably doesn’t even need me. But I’m saying it, just the same. I’d shoot you, Dorian would fry you, Solas would freeze you, Bull would gore you, Blackwall would stab you, Cole would… well, do something Cole-like, and Cassandra wouldn’t stop any of us. She’d even help us hide the body.”

“Oh damn, you’ve already started threatening him?”

Cullen looked up as Dorian poked his head in, and he came to join Varric. “Here I wanted to be the one to instigate it,” Dorian said with a snap of his fingers.

“Gotta be a little faster next time, Sparkler,” Varric said with a grin. “You looking for me?”

“Of course. Sister Leliana has a few questions for you about your Hawke friend, and since I was the only one in the library at the time, asked me to fetch you,” Dorian said as he toed one of the crumpled pages, and Cullen _prayed_ Dorian wouldn’t pick one up like Varric did.

“Well, duty calls,” Varric said with a shake of his head. He looked up at Cullen and slapped his arm. “Remember what I said. Simpler the better. If you aren’t Dorian, don’t go over the top.”

Dorian perked. “What’s this? Wooing advice?” he asked as he grinned over at Cullen, who let his face fall into his hands. “Oh it is! How sweet! If you ever want additional advice, Commander, you only need ask. My door is always open.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said through gritted teeth, and he walked towards them with his arms held out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have about a hundred reports to read, an army to inspect, and a training session to lead, so…”

“Right, of course, leaving,” Dorian said as he bustled out with Varric, and Cullen slammed the door shut behind them.

Cullen crumpled the paper in his hand as he rested his forehead against the wood. His hands shook a little; today was turning into a terrible day, and he wanted that little kit more than ever. Anything to take the edge off, to help calm him; he was starting to wonder if he could properly lead the Inquisition’s army and cultivate a relationship with its Inquisitor _and_ battle the lyrium addiction.

“Maker give me strength,” he breathed. He pushed himself away from the door and gathered up all the papers to burn, before he returned to his desk. He bit his lower lip, before he snagged the pen and a fresh scrap of paper.

Speak from the heart, Varric said. Don’t write poetry.

_The world is all the brighter for your presence._ _–C_

There. That ought to do. Now for the flower.

He folded up the note and set off for the gardens.

***


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slow, moonlit walk around a lake in Ferelden, with some very personal conversation. Cullen learns a little more about Evelyn's time at the Ostwick Circle, and the two grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains my own personal headcanon for what happened at Ostwick's Circle after Kirkwall and the mage uprising. It goes against the canon, which states that Ostwick was neutral, because I'm afraid I didn't buy that they'd be able to. Hopefully you'll grant me artistic license here, even if you don't agree!
> 
> Takes place immediately after the kiss on the dock at the lake in Ferelden.

***

“And here,” Cullen said as he plucked up a purple flower from one of the tall stalks that grew at the lakeshore. “We call them lantern blooms. In the height of summer, all the fields around the lake are filled with fireflies, and they love these flowers. You see how thin the petals are? They light up from the firefly as it feeds on the nectar.”

She took the bloom when he handed it to her, and she touched it with a fingertip. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, and she looked up at him. “It all sounds breathtaking.”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile, and he picked another flower, only this time, he settled it in the braid over her ear. “It was,” he agreed. “My sisters both loved to come out here and make crowns from them. They’d pretend they were long-lost elven princesses, haloed in mystical light.”

She laughed softly as she brushed her fingers over the flower in her hair, and she tucked the one he handed her originally into his breastplate. Her hands rested on it briefly, and he reached up to cover them with his own, twining their fingers.

Oh, how that gave him a thrill, to be able to touch her whenever he wished. To be able to pull her close and kiss her, like he’d been dreaming of for months – he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop, now that he could.

“My only sister is nearly ten years my elder,” she said as she looked at their hands, running her bare fingers along his gloves. “So I’m quite envious of your sisters. By the time I was old enough to play pretend, she was well beyond such childish games. So instead, I played Templars and Mages with my brothers.”

“Templars and Mages?” Cullen asked with a smile. “Do I dare ask on which side you fell?”

Her eyes danced as she looked up at him. “I suppose I ought to say Templars, but I confess, I had such fun pretending to be the evil, wayward Mage,” she said. “My brothers often ran crying to our governess, because I was up a horse chestnut tree and wouldn’t let them catch me.”

“You wouldn’t? How did you stop them?” he asked, and she grinned.

“By pelting them with horse chestnuts, of course,” she said as she squeezed his hands. “A lot less dangerous, perhaps, than a fireball, but they certainly hurt as much.”

Cullen laughed, long and loud, and when he finally met her gaze, she smiled at him and pressed their foreheads together.

“What happened when it turned out you were a mage after all?” he asked, and he cursed when her expression dimmed. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, I should’ve – I mean, what we discussed earlier – please, forget I asked.”

_“Cullen,”_ she said, as her hands clutched his, and he held them tighter against his chest. “I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything about me. I want no secrets between us, no taboo subjects. So don’t apologize. All right?”

Cullen flinched a little, as his thoughts turned to his biggest secret; he hadn’t breathed a word of his lyrium withdrawal to anyone but Cassandra, even now. Leliana probably knew, because she knew everything at the end of it all, but he was certain that his Inquisitor knew nothing.

_I will have to tell her soon,_ Cullen thought as he looked down at their hands. _I should have told her the moment we reached Skyhold. She deserves to know… especially now._

Still, he hesitated – and he knew it was fear that drove him. Fear that she would reject him for his omission, and leave this newly budded romance between them to crumble to ash. He knew he should have more faith in her; was that not always proved time and again? But he couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Not just yet.

_Let me have this,_ he thought as he drew her hands up and pressed his lips to her knuckles. _Let me have just a little more with her. I do not dare hope for much, but just enough. Just enough to keep the darkness at bay._

“Cullen?” she murmured, and his gaze flicked up to hers. She turned her hands so their palms met, and she ran her thumbs along his fingers.

“Of course. No secrets,” he finally answered. “Please, tell me what happened.”

She drew a breath. “At first, I thought it was some kind of joke,” she murmured as she studied their hands. “I couldn’t possibly be a mage. I was about to leave for school, about to begin the steps to join the ranks of my family.” Her hands tightened on his. “But there was no mistake.”

He drew in a breath, and she sighed. “Oh… I wept. And I prayed again and again to Andraste, begging her to take away my magic,” she said and Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. “I knew what it meant. I would be dead to my family, with no claim to my title, or my home, or anything I once called mine. I would never see my parents again, or my siblings, and I wanted nothing more than to flee and hide myself away, where I could not be taken from everything I loved.”

He clicked his tongue. “That was one of my least favorite parts of being a Templar,” Cullen said as he reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “Many who came to the Circle hoped for a better life, but when we had to remove a child from a family that loved them…”

He shook his head. “I told myself I would never have children, not if it meant losing them in such a way,” he murmured. “Of having to watch them snatched from my wife’s arms, and having no way to stop it.”

“I wasn’t snatched,” she said as she leaned into his touch, and she reached up to cover his hand with hers, holding it there. “But it was a near thing. My brother wouldn’t let go of me, nor I of him. My father had to tear us apart, and Maxwell swore he would join me in the Circle, that he would not leave me there alone.”

“Your brother is Maxwell, I assume?” Cullen murmured and she nodded.

“Yes. He is merely one year younger than me, and we were… are very close. The three of us, Maxwell, myself, and Fitzwilliam, who is the next closest in age.  Fitzwilliam is merely a year older than me.”

Cullen made a quiet sound as he imagined it. “And did he?” he asked. “Did your brother find a way to join you?”

“He tried,” she said with a shake of her head. “Both he and Fitzwilliam joined the Templars in the hopes they would be assigned to Ostwick, but it never happened.” She sighed softly. “The three of us did correspond faithfully, in secret,” she said with a small smile. “They were my lifeline when my training was at its worst. I thank the Maker we were never caught. I’m not sure what would’ve become of me if I lost ties with them, especially after the uprising.”

“Was Ostwick’s Circle that bad?” he asked as his brows furrowed, and she shook her head.

“No,” she said as she turned her face to his palm, and oh, how he wished he weren’t wearing gloves. “Not at all. It was quiet. Not to mention secluded. We were quite cut off from the rest of the world. So when the Templars turned on us…”

_“They_ turned on _you?”_ Cullen asked, with growing alarm, and she looked up at him.

“Cullen,” she murmured. “Remember what I asked of you, back in Haven? You were a Templar, but now you are my Commander. And I certainly don’t hold you up to the crimes of others.”

She squeezed his hand, holding it tighter against her cheek. “And remember what you told me when we arrived here tonight? That you don’t see the dangers of magic in me?” Her lips brushed his gloved palm. “I don’t see those Templars in you. And I never will.”

His heart leapt when she said that, and he slid one arm around her waist to anchor her against him. Hers slid around his waist in turn, and she bumped her nose against his when he leaned in; her eyes were steady and clear, and he closed his eyes and just _breathed_ with her.

“This will not be easy,” she murmured. “We have ages of history against us, Cullen. Culturally, our relationship is forbidden.” She shook her head. “But it is not insurmountable. Not if we are both willing to set aside our preconceptions. I see so many in myself, in the way I continue to ask you if you could care for a _mage._ As though I am a woman unworthy of even your gaze.”

“And I have done nothing to alleviate those fears –”

She held up a hand, placing it to his lips, and he sucked in a breath. “Cullen, you did not give them to me in the first place,” she said as their gazes met. “And my asking does not truly stem from any unworthy feelings. I assure you, I feel quite worthy of your attentions.”

He laughed softly as she grinned. “Modest, aren’t you?” he teased, and she squished their noses together.

“You would not have me any other way,” she replied and he couldn’t resist it.

“No,” he said, “I wouldn’t.” And he leaned in and kissed her.

Oh, it was as heavenly as the first time he surprised her on the ramparts. They of course, stole kisses here and there whenever they had a moment, and earlier on the pier, before they began their walk around the lake. But each one remained delicious. Her lips parted in surprise as she let out a little muffled sound, but she eagerly returned it, throwing her arms around his neck. He held her close, hands sliding up and down her back, and he lost himself in the feel of her lips against his. Each little gasp she made as they parted slightly for breath made his heart pound in his ears –

“How much longer do we have here?” she asked in between kisses, speaking against his lips, and he shook his head.

“I don’t – we have to go back to Skyhold in the morning,” he said as he drew her into another kiss, and he shivered as she sucked on his lower lip. “We can stay – we can stay here all night, if you’d like.”

She broke off the kiss when he said that, but it took a long moment for her lips to leave his. Their heavy breath mingled, and he looked into her eyes; her cheeks held a pretty flush, her lips were red and wet, parted and swollen from their kisses, and her eyes… oh, the look in them set his blood alight.

“Take care,” he breathed out as he brushed his lips over hers. “Take care when you look at me like that.”

She smiled and kissed his lips when they ghosted over his, and her hands slid down to his forearms. “Why? Shall I tempt you to such unspeakable acts, Commander, that you must warn me off?” she asked, and kissed him again. It was little more than a lingering peck, but he shivered just the same.

“Oh, I would carry you off to your tower in Skyhold, and defend you more staunchly than a dragon and his gold-hoard,” he said as they kissed yet again, a little longer. “For I am as greedy as one, and I would never let you leave our bed.”

He felt the shiver that ran through her, and she grinned against his lips. “Our bed, hm?” she murmured as she finally drew back, and he blushed.

“I mean – that is – I know it is presumptuous,” he said with a shake of his head. “Very presumptuous. Is there any way I can bribe you into forgetting I said that?”

“Not at all,” she said with a grin, and her fingertips brushed over his lower lip. “I should warn you as well, Commander. Take care in saying such things.”

“Or else…?” he asked as he brushed his lips over her knuckles, and her eyes darkened, even as she smiled.

“Or else you will find yourself ordered up to my tower,” she said with a wicked grin. “Whereupon I will lock the door and throw the key down into the gardens, and we shall have to use every piece of fabric to create a rope down to it.”

He laughed! “Every piece of fabric,” he said with a shake of his head. “I assume you include articles of clothing in that.”

“But of course,” she said, and she squeezed his arms before she slipped out of his embrace. He blushed at the thought and she grinned wider. “Now, Commander, I believe you were about to show me your favorite spot?”

He felt colder, bereft without her in his arms, even though she stood but a few scant steps to his side. He shoved it down though, and nodded when she said that, and he offered her his arm.

“This way,” he said as she slipped her arm through his, and he finally gave in and pulled his gloves off. She beamed at him as she took his hand instead, and he shivered as their fingers twined together. “It’s not far.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then lead on, Commander,” she said, and they set off at last.

***


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen stumbles upon his lady after a bath... purely by accident, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Skyhold, after the conversations about lyrium.

***

Cullen let himself into the Inquisitor’s room, and he climbed up final set of stairs. It was late, but he knew he wouldn’t disturb anyone at this hour; Evelyn wasn’t due back until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He wasn’t always able to be at the portcullis to greet her, but he always left a flower for her to find the moment she returned. He knew it brightened her day; she always wore whatever he left twined with her braids until she left for the next mission.

_I don’t know what I’ll do when winter comes in earnest,_ he thought as he finally stepped into the room. _Perhaps the hothouses will be finished by then, and we will still have flowers. If not, I suppose I’ll have to settle for leaving notes again. Though I have definitely run out of things to say._

The fire crackled –

Wait.

Cullen stopped in his tracks and he looked at the fireplace. Rather than the pile of fresh, unlit firewood he expected, a large fire blazed, and as he looked around, he realized that there were candelabras everywhere, all lit.

_What? Why are all these lit? They shouldn’t be,_ he thought as he slowly turned –

“Cullen?”

He _froze._

Evelyn, somehow, had returned without him realizing it. His office was right over the main gate, and it was the only way in or out of the castle. How she got in without him hearing the horses across the causeway, or the general cheer that usually went up upon her return, he’d never guess.

But there she was, standing beside a large basin, comb in hand. Her armor stood on a mannequin, her staff propped up on the wall beside it, and she wore nothing but dressing gown held shut by her free hand. Her hair – _oh,_ her hair. For the first time since they met, he saw it free from the numerous braids she wore looped around her head. It fell in gentle waves all the way down her back, heavy and wet, and he _stared._

She stared right back, eyes impossibly wide, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Even his mind was horribly blank.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she dropped the comb and tugged the dressing gown up higher on her shoulders – her very bare shoulders, he realized with a start.

“You were bathing,” he blurted out, and his face flamed. “Oh Maker – I did not think –”

He finally collected his wits from the floor and whirled to put his back to her. “My deepest apologies,” he said as he stared at the windows, and when he saw her reflection, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I did not think you would return until tomorrow morning. If I knew you were here, I never would’ve _dreamt –_ especially if you were – Maker, what must you think of me!”

_Oh sweet Andraste, may you strike me down now,_ he thought as he stammered through more apologies, only to jerk in surprise when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her with wide eyes, and she smiled.

“I wondered when you put those flowers on my desk,” she said as she knelt and plucked up the bloom from the floor. “I look forward to them, you know. I was quite disappointed to return and find nothing to greet me.”

He dragged up a smile, though his face refused to cool, especially with the dressing gown once again low on her shoulders. She held it closed with a hand at her chest, but he still saw the slope of her neck give way to the top swell of her breast, and his head swam from the force of _want_ that crashed into him.

He staggered, and he took a step back. His hand found the edge of her desk and he steadied himself as he bit the inside of his cheek. It frightened him, the depth of the emotion; never in his life had he felt such a powerful need, not even in his darkest moments, when the pull of lyrium was at its worst. If she touched him now, if she said another word –

_“Cullen.”_

Her voice broke into the haze, and he found her standing before him, her free hand clutching his arm. Her eyes were wide, and she shook him slightly.

“Are you all right? What happened?” she demanded, and her brows furrowed. “Is it the withdrawal? What do you need? Cullen –”

He leaned in and kissed her.

Oh, it was not a gentle kiss. It was hard and hungry, and he yanked her flush against him, one arm tight around her middle and the other in her hair. He kissed her with all the desperation he felt, lips crushed against hers; she tasted of rosewater with a hint of wine and he gasped slightly against her lips.

She let out a startled sound, but she kissed him back, and after a moment, she pulled back. He made a sound of protest, but didn’t stop her, and he pressed their foreheads together. He held her arms, and she clutched the front of her dressing gown, holding it closed as she looked up at him.

_“Well,”_ she murmured with a shaky smile. “That’s one way to shut me up.”

He winced and tried to draw back, but her hand darted out and held the back of his neck to stop him.

_“Cullen,”_ she commanded, and he met her gaze. “Whatever you’re about to say, if you’re about to apologize to me for taking such liberties, or say you were too rough, or – well, anything remotely resembling an apology, _don’t._ If I don’t want you to kiss me, you’ll know it.”

Her eyes danced. “And perhaps I want you to take a few liberties,” she said with a grin. “It isn’t every day that a handsome man wanders into your chambers just as you’ve finished your bath. I think I have a few romance novels that start out that way.”

Cullen laughed softly, and his hand slid down from her hair, over her shoulder. “It is terribly cliché, isn’t it?” he said, and he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips. “Though I believe I was supposed to find you physically in the bath, not readying yourself for bed.”

She laughed and bumped her nose against his. “Then you admit it! You came up here with the express purpose of interrupting me, undoubtedly with some wicked design upon my body,” she teased, and he nipped at her lower lip.

“Oh, Lady, if you knew half the things you tempted me to…” He smiled against her lips as he spoke. “You would not come within a hundred feet of me.”

She kissed him and pressed a little closer against him. “You think so?” Her eyes met his, and the look in them set his heart racing. “You think I am not tempted by you, Commander? That I don’t imagine pulling you to my bed and –”

There was a knock at the door.

Both of them froze. Her head whipped towards the stairwell, and Cullen cursed under his breath.

“Lady Trevelyan? Are you decent?” came a muffled voice, and Evelyn hissed.

“It is Leona,” she whispered as she clutched Cullen’s arm. _“Hide.”_

“What?” Cullen whispered back. “Who is Leona?”

But he looked around desperately, before he dove behind her desk. He pulled his feet in when she kicked them, and she held a finger to her lips. He nodded, and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Yes, Leona! I’m decent!” she called out as she moved away from the desk, and Cullen heard the door open.

“I brought you some fresh clothes, and Cook made up a tray for you,” an older woman’s voice said, and it clicked after a moment; this was the woman Josephine assigned to Evelyn to act as her secretary, personal maid, and dresser. He never had a name to go with the face until now. “I apologize about the lack of your private bath. If we’d known –”

“It’s quite all right,” Evelyn said, and there was the rattling sound of a metal tray being set upon something. “We completed our mission much earlier than expected, and you know what Dorian is like. Why sleep in a tent when we can have our real beds? So we pushed on and came back early.”

There was a soft sound that Cullen didn’t know if it came from Evelyn or Leona. “Besides,” Evelyn continued. “At this hour, the communal baths are empty anyway. And I’ve used communal baths my whole life in the Circle. I don’t mind.”

“But you are not in the Circle now,” Leona replied, and Cullen heard her near the fireplace. He dared not move, but he prayed that she would not look over at the desk. “You are the Inquisitor. And you are a Lady! It is highly inappropriate for you to bathe yourself with everyone else.”

“Then I will be sure to send word the moment I know we will return early,” Evelyn said, and there was the rustle of cloth. He peeked under the very edge of the desk, and saw her dressing gown pooled around her ankles on the floor.

_Oh,_ he thought, with wide eyes, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping. The image of her bare throat and breast rose to mind before he could stop them, and his face _flamed._

“We would appreciate that,” Leona replied, and he heard her move away from the fireplace. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Not at present,” Evelyn said. “Please tell Cook thank you for the tray. Traveling always leaves me famished.”

“I will. Have a good night, my lady,” Leona replied, and Cullen heard her heels click over the stone. He heard the door open and shut, and after a long moment of silence, he sighed in relief and pressed his forehead to his hands.

“Well, that was certainly exciting.”

Cullen let out a chuckle. “If you say so,” he said with a shake of his head. “Are you… decent?”

He heard the smirk in her voice. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” she teased, and he choked. What was she in now? He heard her pull on something; what if it was worse than the dressing gown?

He couldn’t resist. He pushed himself up and peeked over the edge of the desk –

“…you’re in more clothes,” he said and she giggled. The high collar of a nightgown peeked out from under the replaced – and now properly belted – dressing gown, and her previously bare feet were now firmly bundled in a pair of slippers. She winked at him as he got to his feet, and she walked over to him to squeeze his arm.

“I am,” she said. “But at least now it is not quite so wildly inappropriate for you to be seen speaking with me.”

“It is still the middle of the night,” he replied as he arched an eyebrow. “And we are still unchaperoned.”

“But we are leaders of the Inquisition, Cullen,” she returned. “Courting or not, we still have business to speak of, do we not?”

He blinked. “Do we?” he asked, and when she arched an eyebrow, he grinned. “Of course we do. Right. Things… that require a personal debriefing.”

“Mm,” she replied as she leaned in. “A _very_ personal debriefing…”

He chuckled and went to kiss her –

Her stomach _growled._

They blinked at each other, and she _blushed._ He laughed and shook his head. “I suppose I should leave you to your meal and rest,” he said, and she clutched his arm.

“Stay? Stay and speak with me?” she said as she studied his face, and he smiled softly. “It has been a week since we last saw each other. I want to know how you’ve been. How…” She reached up and brushed the backs of her fingers along his cheek, through a few locks of his hair. “How you’ve fared. Has it been a good week?”

He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant. After he told her of his decision with lyrium, they spoke for hours of good weeks and bad weeks, and what it meant. She wanted to know everything, and he, while reluctant, did so.

At the end of it, though, he was glad he did. She offered him support that was not intrusive, nor belittling, simply _there,_ if he needed it, and he had never been more grateful in his life.

“I’m all right. It’s been all right,” he murmured. “I’m sorry if I frightened you earlier. When I first entered.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t frighten me. Not really. You looked like you did the day you hurled that case of lyrium at me. It had me concerned,” she said with a small smile, and he flinched.

“I didn’t –”

She placed her fingers to his lips. “I know,” she said as she held his gaze. “I know you didn’t actually hurl it at me. And knowing the torment it has caused you, I’m happy you threw it. I would happily piece it back together and throw it in the fire if I could.”

He laughed softly and he reached up to brush his fingers along her cheek. She leaned into the touch, and he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear as he studied her face. It was barely two weeks since his admission to her about the lyrium, and their subsequent discussions in both his office and on the ramparts, and many mornings he felt the urge to pinch himself that she still remained at his side.

“You…” He sighed out. “Sometimes I think you cannot be real. You are so much more than I deserve.”

Her eyes danced as she looked up at him. “And that feeling overwhelmed you?” she asked. “Quite a power I have, to send you swooning against the nearest surface.”

His cheeks flamed. “I did not swoon!” he said as his hands dropped to his sides, and she laughed and squeezed his arm.

“Of course not, darling,” she said. She darted in and pecked him on the lips, even as he grumbled. “Will you take a seat on the sofa? I need to eat, as you heard. But I really do want to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Cullen murmured, and he did as she requested before he could think better of it. He knew, though, that he couldn’t refuse her anything. Especially not such a simple request.

“Now tell me about your week,” she said as she settled beside him and pulled the lid off the tray. “And nothing about the Inquisition. I can read your reports for that.” She tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to him. “I want to know how you’ve been. If anything exciting has happened, or how you’re feeling… please tell me. Has it been a good week?”

He swallowed a little and looked away. “It could’ve been worse,” he said, and he looked down at his hands when she reached out and touched them. He tugged off his gloves and twined their fingers before he looked up at her. “You’ve been sorely missed.”

She smiled softly. “As have you,” she said as she squeezed his hands. “How have you held up?”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, he hesitated.

“I…” He shook his head. “As I said, it could’ve been worse.” He slumped against the back of the sofa, and he ached to be free of his armor, but he didn’t dare remove one piece of it. He didn’t want to think about the gossip if they were discovered together like this, leaders of the Inquisition or no.

“One of the new recruits, he’s ex-Templar,” he said at last, as his head dropped back, and he stared at the ceiling. He threaded his fingers together against his chest, and she scooted closer. “He heard about what I practice, and decided to wean himself off lyrium as well. Only…”

“Only?” she prompted, voice quiet, and Cullen flinched.

“Only he went too far too quick,” he said as he shook his head. “The more we take it, the higher our resistance becomes. And, consequently, the longer the weaning process. But he simply just _stopped_ taking it. And he told no one.”

She made a sound at the back of her throat, and he closed his eyes. “I told you what happens if we stop,” he whispered, and she placed her hands over his. “Well, it doesn’t always happen, of course. But sometimes, all of it does. All the pain and madness… And that’s what happened here. He… he was as mindless as an abomination. He nearly killed three of our mages before one of our soldiers got him.”

“Oh Cullen,” she breathed, and he clutched her hand so hard his knuckles went white. “Cullen, it is not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he said as he looked up at her. “He tried to follow in my footsteps. But even I don’t know where this path will lead. If it is possible to endure and break the leash the Chantry has held for so long.”

“It is,” she replied, and she tucked herself up against him, pulling his arm around her shoulders. He sucked in a breath and wrapped both arms around her and he pressed his face to her hair. It smelled of fresh rosewater, with hints of spice and sweetness, and he breathed in deep.

“You have such faith in me,” he murmured against her hair, and she made a soft sound.

“How could I not? After everything you’ve told me. You’ve endured the worst magic has to offer, time and again,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “First at Ferelden’s Circle, and then in Kirkwall. If anyone can see this through, Cullen, it is you.”

He pulled her closer and she smiled. “I am not surprised that people wish to follow in your footsteps,” she said as she looked up at him. “You are an inspiration to them. You are their glorious commander. You care about them as a leader should. And you make everything look so _easy.”_

He gave her a small, broken smile. “There is nothing easy about this path,” he said and he closed his eyes as she touched his cheek. “The pain will drive you _mad_ if you have nothing to distract you.”

“Then tell them that. Call together all the former Templars in our ranks, and tell them privately that if they wish to stop taking lyrium, you will work with them on the process,” she said with a shake of her head. “But make it clear that it is not a requirement, and there is no judgment for those who would continue. Between Dagna, our Mage tower, and our Dwarven ties, we will never run short of lyrium to give them.”

Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat and he pressed his forehead to hers. “And what am I to tell the ones that decide they would like to?” he asked as he looked into her eyes. “I do not know if I am strong enough to bear myself and another, let alone an entire camp full of former Templars through the pain.”

She hummed at the back of her throat. “They will pair up,” she said with a nod. “All of you will meet in private once, or perhaps twice, a week. Every other day if you must. You may use my chambers here, if you’d like, as it is the most private place in Skyhold. And you will all talk. You will share your fears, your moments of weakness, and you will support each other. A single man could not handle it alone, but perhaps together…”

He looked at her, with wide eyes. “And the pairs… the pairs are so they always have someone to go to,” he said, a little breathless, and she nodded. “Their partner will keep them accountable. If your partner can endure, if your partner can resist, surely you can too.”

“Exactly,” she said, her eyes bright, and he hugged her to him.

“That is brilliant,” he said as he held her tight, and she grinned.

“I have my moments,” she said and she settled against him. “Now tell me what else has happened while I’ve been away.”

“Well, Sera’s been in a right state over a bowl of _raisins,_ of all things…”

***


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and the Inquisitor have a chat about Samson, as well as about her time in the Circle, and how she fled after the rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after raiding the Shrine of Dumat for Cullen's personal quest.
> 
> This also includes my headcanon for my Inquisitor, which is that she and the other mages had to flee for their lives. It also includes mentions of other Trevelyans, some of whom are canon, and some of whom are not. Maxwell sort of is, Fitzwilliam is not, as are her other two siblings. Please see the endnotes if you're curious about them!

***

“Silver for your thoughts?”

Cullen looked up at the sound of Evelyn’s voice. She approached him, leaving behind the glow of their campfire, and she brushed her arm against his, leaning her weight on him slightly. He leaned back, but he did not uncross his arms, and he sighed.

“I’d give them to you for free,” he said as he turned his gaze back to the burning temple in the distance. The fires set by the tranquil Maddox still burned, though they certainly appeared less than when their party crested this hill earlier in the day and saw the smoke in the distance.

“Then what’s on your mind?” she murmured as she tucked her arm through his, and her hand settled in the crook of his elbow. Her other hand covered her first, and she shook his arm gently. “I made dinner for us and you didn’t even stir from your vigil. Are you worried that the fires will spread and catch us unaware?”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Hardly.”

“Then what?” she prompted, and he sighed.

“It’s that letter,” he said with a shake of his head. “The… the sheer _hubris_ in it. Did he think I would understand? That I would sympathize with what he’s done? That he –”

He cut himself off and he closed his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said as he covered both her hands with his. “I will burn the letter as soon as Leliana and her people have scoured it for possible clues. I know it was written in an attempt to shake me. To make me think of his situation. I should never have read it.”

“He must know you very well, if he knew just how to get under your skin,” she murmured, and his jaw clenched. “Cullen, it’s all right if you were friends. With every Templar we face, I can’t help but wonder if I might’ve known the man underneath. If one of them was from Ostwick…”

Her voice dipped in such a way that made him draw in a breath. “I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now, but have never found the right moment,” he said as he looked down at her. “What happened to the Circle in Ostwick? What did they do to you?”

She looked back at him, and he reached up to rub at a bit of soot on her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, and in that moment, she looked so _tired_ that he wanted to gather her up and tell her to rest.

“I…” She shook her head a little. “I’ve never spoken of it. To anyone. And…”

She glanced back at the camp, and Cullen hummed in realization.

_She does not want the others to hear,_ he thought as he followed her gaze. He ran his fingers up and down her arm before he squeezed gently. She looked back up at him, and he smiled softly.

“Come,” he murmured. “There’s a stream nearby. Let’s refill our canteens, and you can wash up, if you’d like.”

“And you can eat something,” she replied with a small smile, and after they collected their canteens, a bundle of food, and a lantern, he took her hand and led her out of camp.

Just as he promised, it wasn’t far; they passed it on their way to the shrine, in fact. It was a small, freshwater stream, with a little pool fed by a waterfall. Neither said a word, just pulled off their boots and rolled up their pants, and he helped her refill both jugs with the fresh water. He settled after at the edge of the pool, and opened the bundle of food. He drew his knife to slice off hunks of cheese and dried meat, and he watched her cup her hands under the waterfall before bringing it to her face.

He piled everything onto piece of bread, and he offered her a bite when she picked her way back to him. Her face was red from the cold of the water, and she shook her head before she settled next to him, thigh against his.

“I’m all right, thank you,” she murmured, as she looked at the waterfall, and he reached out and ran his fingers along her spine. She leaned against him, and they sat in silence for a moment while he ate.

Once he started, his stomach growled, and he ate both bread and the stew she made with relish. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, as preoccupied as he was with the temple. She picked at a bit of bread, but she said nothing until he finished.

“Feeling better?” she asked and he took a long drink of water before he nodded. “Good.”

He looked up at her. “Now will you tell me what happened?” he asked, and she drew in a breath.

“Right,” she murmured, and she looked down at her hands. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened when Ostwick’s Circle fell. It just… is not something I care to speak of in public.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat and squeezed her shoulder. “I gathered that,” he said before he finished up the last of the bread and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “If you do not wish to tell me…”

“I do,” she said as she looked up at him. It was a long moment before she continued, and he leaned forward slightly as he listened.

“I was eleven when I was brought to the Circle. And I’ve told you that we lived a very secluded, sheltered life there,” she said as she looked down at her hands. “My parents have connections in the Chantry, and very strong ties to the Templars. They were determined that if I was to be in a cage the rest of my life, it would be the best and most gilded cage possible, even if it meant all the mages would share in it.” She picked at a bit of loose thread on her pants. “So when I was taken, they used every string they could to appoint the tutors we had, to ensure we had the best materials for our spells, and that we would want for nothing. We might not have had news, but we always had the latest fashions, and the best food to eat.”

She shook her head. “The Templars resented it. They were forbidden from intermingling with us, and so they could not share in our good fortune,” she murmured, and she leaned against him with a sigh. “Nor could they stop us from enjoying it. My parents were too well-connected, my family too well-respected among the Chantry. If they found out about any abuse towards us from the Templars, each and every one of them would’ve been ruined.”

He set aside the food as he imagined it, and he drew her into his arms. “That does not sound like the best scene you’ve set,” he murmured, and she reached up and tangled their fingers.

“It does not, does it?” She shook her head slightly. “You can imagine, then, what happened the moment our Templars heard about Kirkwall,” she said as she turned her face against his neck. “About the rebellions starting all over Thedas.”

He closed his eyes. “You said they turned on you,” he murmured, and she nodded.

“We had no idea what had happened. They were very good about keeping such things from us,” she murmured against his neck. “Why do you think I asked so many questions upon my arrival? Oh, my brothers gave me news in their letters, but it took time to smuggle those in and out. So I was always a month behind the latest information. And we had no idea the unrest that festered in other Circles. With my family’s patronage, we were a coop of fat, happy chickens.”

She sighed and pressed closer. “All I knew is one moment, we were working on a new process to achieve a two-tone cloth, and the next, Templars were upon us with their swords drawn,” she murmured, and he pulled her closer. “They said a mage murdered the knight-commander, and his replacement immediately ordered a Right of Annulment –”

He jerked in shock. “That’s not possible,” he said with a shake of his head. “He would’ve needed the approval of the Grand Cleric. I…” He cut himself off and looked down at her. “How did you stop them?”

“How do you think?” she replied as she looked up at him. “They cut down two of my friends before the rest of us even thought to fight back. I threw dye at one, because it happened to be in my hand, and I think that is what saved us. Rather than throw spells, we threw chemicals, things Templars aren’t resistant to. I’d never…”

A shudder went through her. “I’d never hurt anyone, let alone actually _killed_ someone,” she said as she looked out at the stream. “But before I knew it, I had. And I did it again, and again, until we’d driven the Templars back.”

She paused and pulled away from him. “Does that… does knowing that change what you think of me?”

He blinked. “What?” he asked as he reached out and touched her shoulder. “No. Why would it? You were forced into a terrible situation. If I cannot understand that, I certainly don’t deserve your understanding about my own actions regarding mages.”

She looked up at him, her eyes large and liquid in the lamplight, and he pulled her close. “I can’t imagine how you could come to care for me at all,” he murmured, and she clutched at the fabric of his coat. “If this is your impression of Templars.”

“Easily,” she said as she looked into his eyes. “I saw you, that first day on the battlefield, go to a struggling soldier, and hoist him up to help him off the field. I watched you fetch a ball for one of Haven’s children from the tavern roof. I’ve heard you laugh at Dorian’s terrible jokes, I’ve seen you spar with Cassandra when she’s in one of her moods. I’ve even seen you try to get Cole to eat something.”

She touched his cheek. “You are not the most patient man, no. But you are the kindest, and the most honorable man I have ever met. And when you love, you love fiercely,” she said as she cupped his face. “That is all anyone can ever ask for.”

His face flamed and he leaned into the touch, trying to hide his hot cheeks. “How did you escape the Circle?” he asked after a moment, and her hands slid from his face.

“My brothers,” she said with a quiet sigh. “They knew what was happening, and they gathered together a group of like-minded Templars and rode for Ostwick’s Circle. They told me they expected to find the Circle abandoned, everyone inside slaughtered.”

Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. “It is what happened elsewhere,” he murmured. “Many Circles were not so lucky as yours, to have the ability to drive their Templars back.”

She nodded. “Or, the mages were the ones who attacked first,” she said as she leaned against him. “We were sealed in the tower by the Templars we drove back, and I confess, I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

Her voice hitched a little and he pulled her close. “Many of us were apprentices. Children, barely into their teens,” she murmured. “So many were dead, including the First Enchanter. And everyone looked to me for direction. I cannot say why.”

Cullen kissed her temple. “You have a presence,” he murmured as he ran his fingers along her arm. “You have the presence and the bearing of a leader. That is more than enough in times such as those.”

She smiled slightly up at him. “Thank you,” she replied and she reached up to touch his cheek. He smiled back and leaned into her touch, before he ran his lips over her fingers.

“So you held out until your brothers arrived?” he asked and she shook her head.

“I didn’t know they were coming,” she said as she looked back at the stream. “I concocted a plan. I knew we hadn’t the food or water to outlast them. So we brewed up the strongest sleeping powder we could, and put it into crude grenades. And I and two others snuck from the Tower and set them off at the camp.”

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. “Impressive,” he murmured and she blushed. “Then what?”

“We evacuated. We took everything we could carry from the Circle and the Templar camp, blankets, horses, food, and we fled,” she said as she tangled her fingers with his. “We were lucky. In their haste to evacuate, the Templars left the apprentice’s phylacteries, which we destroyed. As for the rest of us, well, we would have to run, and hope we would stay ahead of any pursuers.”

She shook her head. “Maxwell was quite cross with me when they finally caught up with us,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Oh?” Cullen asked as he squeezed her gently. “Why would he be? You escaped with your life. And the lives of the surviving mages.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “Because we took all the Templars’ clothing and burned it,” she said, and Cullen burst out laughing.

“He said he was quite traumatized. I told him he should’ve enjoyed looking at all those strapping men,” she said with a small shake of her head. “He told me that none of them were strapping, and he could’ve gone well without seeing so many old, fat men.”

Cullen made a sound at the back of his throat. “Your brother…?” he ventured, and she nodded.

“Is like Dorian, yes,” she said, as she looked up at him and studied his face. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Does that bother you? Your reaction that night I told you about Dorian…”

Cullen blinked. “What? No! No, not at all,” he said with a frown. “Dorian, or any other man, or woman, for that matter, is welcome to his or her own pleasure. I merely…” He sighed. “Dorian is a friend. An excellent friend, and I care for him as such. I simply did not want him to think there was the possibility for more.”

He reached up and brushed her cheek. “I have had eyes only for you since the moment I met you,” he murmured, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Flatterer,” she breathed out and he laughed softly and bumped their noses together.

“Continue your story, then,” he said and she smiled.

“You can imagine, we did not get far before my brothers caught up with us,” she said as she drew back. “There were not enough horses for all of us, and those are quite easy to track. The older mages wanted to attack when we heard the hooves of their approaching horses, and I thank the Maker that Maxwell had the sense to approach us alone. Or the stupidity.”

She drew in a breath. “I confess, I’ve never been happier to see my brothers. And they were so very relieved to see me,” she said. “They told us what was happening, and that their company was against the violence springing up all over. They hoped to travel with us, to find somewhere safe for all of us, and I was relieved. A group of mages traveling with a Templar guard was much safer, after all.”

She leaned back against him. “I took us first to my family estate. I knew my family was gone for the summer, and it gave us time to rest and recover,” she said as she threaded her fingers with his. “Fitzwilliam wrote to his contacts in the Order, searching for news, while Maxwell wrote to our eldest brother, Edmund, begging him to keep our family from the estate as long as possible.”

“And did he?” Cullen asked as he tilted his head slightly to one side, and she nodded.

“He was glad for what they did, getting me out. Our mother was so relieved, he said, to hear I still lived, and our father praised their swift thinking,” she murmured. “They all wrote faithfully with news, until finally, Fitzwilliam warned us that the Templars were coming to search our estate.”

She sighed. “We gathered everyone up, and we fled again,” she murmured. “We did this for four years. I’ve no idea how we managed it. But we did. Maxwell and I took jobs wherever we could, while Fitzwilliam managed the delicate balance needed to keep us from ruin or capture. And the moment we heard about the Conclave, I…”

He drew in a breath. “You joined it,” he murmured, and he reached up to tuck a lock of her hair back. “All of you?”

She shook her head, but the sound she made sent a pained jolt through him. He gathered her up again and she shook against him, but she didn’t make a sound, save a quiet sniff, and a shaky breath.

“We had a meeting,” she said after a moment, voice muffled against his chest. “The elder mages, the Templars, and I. And I volunteered. I took a company with me –”

Her voice broke and he pressed his forehead to the top of her head. “Your brothers?” he whispered, and she shook her head.

“No. Thank the Maker,” she breathed out. “It… it was decided that I would take several of the senior mages, and…”

“And?” he murmured, and she looked up at him. His heart twisted; there were tears in her eyes.

_“Children,_ Cullen.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The youngest, who needed more than a life on the run. They protested. Of course they did. They didn’t want to leave us. But I thought, if this was a peace attempt, the Grand Enchanter would find a place for them, with proper beds and proper food.”

Cullen murmured a wordless noise under his breath, gut in knots, and he held his breath. He didn’t dare interrupt.

“There were so many of them. But I gathered them up and I…” Her voice wavered. “And I… I led them…!”

“You couldn’t have known,” he said into her hair, fiercely. “Evelyn, you _couldn’t have known.”_ He pulled her tight against him. “You did what you could to protect them. You protected them for four years! And you made a choice, what seemed like the best choice, to keep them safe. You could not have anticipated Corypheus.”

She looked up at him, and Andraste help him, the tears in her eyes slid down her cheeks. He reached up to brush at a few, and he wondered how long she carried this. How many of her smiles were a mask, hiding this burden?

“What was the point of it all, if I still led them to their deaths?” she murmured as she leaned into his touch. “What if I do it again, Cullen? You all look to me to make the big decisions, but what if the ones I’ve made are sowing the seeds of our destruction?”

She shook her head and stood, hugging herself as she turned her back to him. “I couldn’t bear it,” she whispered, and he stood as well. He reached out and turned her to face him, and he wiped her tears oh so gently.

“Listen to me,” he murmured. “When you led your fellow mages across Thedas, you were alone. Yes, you had your brothers. Yes, you had Templar guardians. But you were a small group, without the right contacts or resources. You were on the _run.”_

She made a sound of protest, and he held up a hand before he gripped her arms. “Listen to me,” he commanded as he met her gaze. “Skyhold is a _fortress._ We have built it so. We have no need to flee anywhere. And the Inquisition is not a group of friendless mages, Evelyn. We are a _force,_ and all of Thedas knows it.”

“But –”

He held up his hand again. “No,” he murmured. “No, buts. You have Cassandra, and Leliana, and Josephine. You have _me._ And we are here to help you. We are here to offer advice and information, until you have the best possible picture. Our failure at Haven was as out of our control as your failure with your charges.”

“Only, we survived Haven,” she murmured, and he nodded. “We survived because of your idea with the trebuchets, Cullen.”

“And Chancellor Roderick’s knowledge of an escape route,” he said as he ran his fingers along her arm. “Do you see what I mean? Both of those were resources you did not have before. And you made a decision that kept us all alive.”

He squeezed her arms. “I _have faith_ in you, Evelyn,” he breathed out. “You will not fail. Not while we still draw breath to help you.”

She sucked in a breath as he said that, and she threw her arms around his neck and _kissed_ him.

She hit with the force of a hurricane. His eyes went wide and he let out a startled sound before he gathered her up and kissed her back, crushing her to him. She kissed him with a desperation that set his heart racing, and his knees went weak as his head swam.

They tumbled to the ground, and he landed with her sprawled out on top of him, her thighs bracketing his hips. She cupped his face and sucked on his lower lip, and he moaned out as he clutched her sides. His hands itched to roam, to touch, but they shook with _need_ , and he could do little but hold her.

_“Oh,”_ he moaned out as she kissed his neck, sucking on the skin, and his hands slid down to her hips. His fingers dug in, and her hips ground down against him, and he jerked beneath her. His heart pounded in his ears, and he arched against her, desperate for less between them, to feel her weight without his armor –

_“Well.”_

They froze and looked towards the sound of the voice, and Dorian smirked at them. Cassandra stood with her back to them, her shoulders tense, while Varric just grinned and chuckled, and they scrambled apart. Cullen got to his feet, face scarlet, and he scowled at both Dorian and Varric before he yanked on his boots.

“Well, _what?”_ he demanded, and Dorian shook his head.

“Nothing. We noticed our illustrious leader was missing from camp, and dear Cassandra panicked and led our intrepid party to hunt for her,” he said with a grin. “Varric did try to warn her, but she was convinced the Lady Trevelyan had been hauled off and eaten by a bear.”

“I was not!” Cassandra snapped as she glared at Dorian. “I was concerned. The Inquisitor never disappears from camp.”

“She does when her handsome lion is around,” Varric said, and Cullen choked. Evelyn laughed softly and threaded her arm through Cullen’s.

“I’m sorry if I worried you,” she said with a shake of her head. “I wanted to wash my face, and Cullen brought me to this stream. Shall we all head back? Tomorrow morning will be here before we know it.”

Cullen stamped down the burst of disappointment, but he nodded. He didn’t want to stop, but it was best if they did. He wanted her terribly, more and more each day, but what did she want? Was this something she wanted to last? The more time they spent together, the less he wanted to let her go.

He wasn’t sure he could anymore, to be honest.

“Ready?” she murmured as she looked up at him, and he smiled.

“Of course,” he said as he squeezed her hand. “Lead on.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if anyone is curious, Maxwell is the default name of the male human inquisitor. In this, I'm using the name for Evelyn's youngest brother. She has two older brothers, Fitzwilliam (who is the middle child), and Edmund, who is the eldest and heir. She also has an older sister named Katherine, who is a noble's wife. Fitzwilliam and Maxwell are both Templars, and will show up in the sequel to this.
> 
> The order, from eldest to youngest, goes: Edmund, Katherine, Fitzwilliam, Evelyn, and finally Maxwell. Feel free to message me if you'd like to know more!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen happens upon the sight of his lady in a ballgown, and it serves as a rude reminder that he and Evelyn are not exactly on the same social strata.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a change of pace, this one takes place _before_ the ball at Halamshiral.
> 
> Also, this was written as sort of a why the Inquisitor is not in a big, fancy ballgown. (Not gonna lie, I was sort of hoping we'd get one, a la the change for fem!Shep in the second Mass Effect.)

***

“Commander!”

Cullen blinked and looked over at the soldier who yanked open the door to his office. He stood wide-eyed and breathless, and Cullen arched an eyebrow.

“What is it?” he asked as he turned back to his desk and shifted aside another stack of papers. The ball at the Winter Palace was tonight, and he couldn’t find the gloves that went with the damned dress uniform. He wore the rest of it – the collar was _still_ too tight – but he’d searched everywhere, and his gloves were nowhere to be found.

_Josephine will kill me if I can’t find them,_ he thought as he made a face.

“Sir, you’d better come,” the soldier said, and Cullen blinked again and looked up. “There’s an argument in the main hall. The Inquisitor is furious.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “She what?” he demanded as he dropped the papers and rushed from his office. He raced down the stairs and ran across the courtyard, before he bounded up the steps leading to the Great Hall. Servants hovered by the closed doors, and Cullen pushed his way past.

“Let me through,” he demanded, and the soldiers who stood on either side of the door pulled it open for him.

The yelling reached him before he was even inside. It was Evelyn’s voice, raised in anger in a way he never thought her capable of, and he pulled the door shut behind him before he marched towards the figures near the throne.

Dorian and Varric hovered to the side, and both looked properly chagrined. Josephine stood in the middle, flanked by Vivienne and Evelyn’s valet, Leona, and Leliana stood to the other side, with her arms crossed over her chest. Cassandra stood with Solas near the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters, and she lifted an eyebrow when she saw him. Cullen frowned a little, and glanced at Blackwall, who sat at one of the tables nearby, with Iron Bull, Sera, and Cole.

_Where’s –_

“And _another_ thing!”

He stopped in his tracks. Standing with her back to him, was Evelyn, hair loose in gentle waves down her back. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, and his eyes went wide when he realized she wasn’t in the uniform everyone else wore.

“You’re in a dress.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth in shock, and Cullen _stared._ Everyone’s attention snapped to him, and his mouth dropped open when she slowly turned to look at him.

Even that night he surprised her on accident, she hadn’t looked like this. The dress she wore was a rich, blue velvet, with heavy gold embroidery around the low neckline and edges. Her waist was belted by a jeweled golden chain, which hung down the front to her feet. She wore a matching necklace, and encircling her brow was a delicate, intricate crown.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Never in his wildest dreams had she looked like this. She looked like a _queen._

“Why –” He cleared his throat with a frown. “Why are you in a dress?”

“She is in a gown,” Vivienne corrected. “She is in a gown befitting her rank and station. Not only is she a lady of the noble Trevelyan line, she is the Inquisitor. She cannot be seen at the Winter Palace in anything less.”

Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “I can and I _will,”_ she snapped. “I am not going to be in anything different than the rest of you. Tonight is about _solidarity.”_

“Yes,” Josephine said with a nod. “For the rest of _us._ But you must stand out.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen interrupted, “but how did they get you into it in the first place? You knew tonight is the ball. Didn’t they tell you what it was for? All the…” He gestured at her and she crossed her arms over her chest as her eyes narrowed. He blinked a little. “Did they even put _paints_ on your face?”

“They tricked me, that’s how,” she snapped. “I thought it was a fitting for a Free Marches reception. Oh no! This is how I am to appear tonight. Trussed up and painted and tripping over my skirts.”

Josephine sighed. “Your worship –”

“Don’t you ‘your worship’ me, Josephine! You know this gown is completely impractical for tonight,” she said as she planted her hands on her hips. “Are we or are we not going to _stop an assassination?_ How will I be able to fight if I’ve lit myself on fire?!”

Vivienne made a frustrated sound, while Cullen made a horrified sound. “That’s a possibility?” he demanded as he looked at her, and Dorian cleared his throat.

“Technically –”

Evelyn _glared_ at him and his mouth shut with a click. Varric patted his arm and they both drew back a little from the force of the glare.

“Commander,” Leliana interrupted. “You’ve not yet had a say. What is your advice?”

Cullen swallowed when everyone’s gazes swung back to him, and he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I to be some sort of tie-breaker?” he asked as he looked at Evelyn, and she made a sound at the back of her throat and lifted an eyebrow. “Because it should be obvious. Let her wear what she wants. Though I would suggest the dress uniform.”

Vivienne groaned. “Andraste preserve me. Do _none_ of you care about etiquette?” she demanded and Cullen held up his hands.

“I’m thinking of her life, Madame,” he said with a shake of his head. “We do not know what it will take tonight. But I’d rather her not be hampered by loose hair and heavy velvet skirts.” He looked down at Evelyn as he moved to her side. “I, for one, do not want to lose our Inquisitor.”

She looked at him with warmth in her eyes, and he blushed slightly.

“Then we are agreed,” Leliana said and Josephine made a frustrated squawk. “No, Josie. Listen to us. Her manner of dress will be forgiven, so long as all other conventions are followed. And I agree with the Commander. She is not used to fighting in those clothes. And such a minor thing could cost her dearly.”

Josephine shared a look with Vivienne, and they sighed. “Oh, very well,” she said with a shake of her head. “Leona, please see that the Inquisitor is dressed in the uniform.”

The older woman bowed slightly and headed for the door to Evelyn’s quarters. Evelyn touched Cullen’s arm, squeezing it gently, and he gave her a small smile. She returned it before she darted off after Leona, and he watched her go.

Dorian clicked his tongue the moment the door shut. “A pity,” he said with a shake of his head. “That outfit was not cheap.”

“And it wasn’t easy to get it here either,” Varric murmured, and Cullen glanced at them and lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh let it _go,”_ Cassandra snapped before Cullen could open his mouth. “I agree with her. I cannot believe that the two of you went behind her back in ordering it. What sort of friends are you?”

“The sort that likes to surprise their friends with gifts,” Dorian replied with a raised eyebrow. “And she is a proper lady. I’ve heard her long for a dress from time to time, Cassandra. I thought she would appreciate not having to dress like a man for once.”

Cassandra bristled. “Oh yes? And I suppose that was a veiled insult, hm?”

“Nothing veiled about it,” Dorian said. “I wouldn’t waste time hiding my meaning with you. We’d be here all night.”

Cassandra drew her sword with a snarl, and Dorian’s fingertips lit up.

_“Enough!”_ Cullen barked, and both of them blinked at him as his voice echoed through the hall. “Both of you, stop it! We are not going into a nest of dragons with all of us sniping at each other. So apologize, and for the love of Andraste, let’s move on.”

“Well said,” Leliana agreed. “I’m sure we all have things to gather together for tonight. So now that things are settled with the Inquisitor, let us do that, shall we?”

Everyone sort of grumbled a bit, but they finally got up and dispersed. Cullen glanced towards the door that led up to Evelyn’s quarters, before he turned to head back to his office. He still had a pair of gloves to find.

He heard Josephine sigh as he did so. “I am sorry, Vivienne. I never thought she would grow so angry,” she said and he glanced back at them.

“Neither did I, my dear,” Vivienne replied. “It is quite a pity. She looked so beautiful. So regal. She has never appeared more properly attired. Those rags she runs about in are hardly suited to a woman of her status.”

Cullen sucked in a breath and he walked as quickly as he could out of the hall.

They were right, curse it all. He forgot, early into their acquaintanceship, that she was a noble. But now, more and more seemed to remind him of the gulf between their stations. Oh, they talked about it a little before, when she told him she didn’t care about his lack of a title, so long as he cared for her. But he was a pragmatist. And he knew that with the Circles disbanded, her family would reinstate her, and she would be Lady Trevelyan in truth once more.

_And Ser Cullen Rutherford cannot be in that picture,_ he thought as his jaw clenched. _As a former Templar, they would see me as a former servant. Perhaps worse, considering their ties to the Order. And certainly not someone worthy of their daughter._

He blew out a breath. Seeing her in that gown only made it worse. She did look lovely in it; breathtaking, in fact. But it put her so far beyond his reach, and his heart just ached.

_I need to ask her what she wants_ , he thought as he climbed the stairs to his office. _I need to know where she sees our future headed. Does she think as I fear… or as I hope? I will not lose her without a fight. So if she sees herself rejoining her family, I must find myself a title, a way to court her in the noble fashion._

But how?

_Don’t think on it now,_ he told himself with a firm shake of his head. _Tonight is going to be a logistical nightmare, and it needs your undivided attention. So focus, and let’s prevent an assassination._

First things first, though. He had to find those blighted gloves.

***


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes his lady from a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the confirmation of Cullen's relationship with the Inquisitor, but before the morning after.

***

Cullen let out a long, easy sigh as he stared up at the night sky through the half-repaired roof of his loft. One arm was tucked up under his head, while the other…

The other was tight around Evelyn’s waist, as he held her against him.

He glanced down at her; she slept, head against his chest, one leg thrown over his. Her breath ghosted across his skin, and he shivered slightly. Oh, this was a dream. It had to be. The best sort of dream, but a dream all the same. She was here, in his bed, oh so warm against him…

And she wanted to be with him. She didn’t want to move on, she didn’t want their time together to end. She wanted to be _his._

_Oh, it is more than I ever hoped for,_ he thought as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. _Sweet Andraste, thank you for this. For her. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but thank you._

Evelyn twitched a little against him, and he reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He hoped the movement would soothe her –

She made a sound at the back of her throat and rolled away, twisting in the sheets as she curled in on herself. Cullen blinked and pushed himself up as he looked down at her; he expected to find her awake, but her eyes were screwed shut tight, and she let out another, broken sound.

“Evelyn?” he murmured, and she simply curled up further. One hand latched onto her upper arm, and her knuckles went white. His brows furrowed when she whimpered, and he touched her shoulder.

“Evelyn –”

She woke with a cry. Cullen jerked back while she bolted upright, and he stared at her for a moment; her eyes were wide, unseeing, and she clutched the sheets as her chest heaved. She looked around, and Cullen reached for her.

_“Evelyn,”_ he murmured as his hand closed over hers. Her gaze snapped down to them, and her eyes focused at last. “Evelyn, it’s all right. You’re _safe._ You’re in my quarters. Do you remember?”

“…Cullen,” she whispered. Cullen squeezed her hand, and she turned her hand over underneath his so she could twine their fingers. “Cullen…”

“Yes,” he said as he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and drew her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head again, and he closed his eyes as she shook against him. “Hush, all will be well. It was just a nightmare. It was not real.”

He felt, rather than saw, her lips curve into a smile against his chest. “Nightmares… tend to be real for me, you know,” she said as she shifted closer. Her voice shook, despite her cavalier tone, and she wrapped her free arm around his middle. “Being a mage and all that.”

He smiled against her hair. “Then luckily, I happen to be a Templar,” he murmured, and his smile widened when she laughed a little. “Well. Former. But I’m certain I’d be all right.”

“Oh yes?” she asked, and her hand squeezed his. “Why is that? What makes you so sure you could handle this task, Commander?”

“For one,” he began, as his hand slid up her spine to her shoulder, “I happen to be an expert when it comes to nightmares. Personal experience, and all that.” He tried to mimic her earlier cavalier tone, and when her arm tightened around his middle, he squeezed her shoulder in reply. “And for another…”

She shifted so she could peek up at him, and he looked down at her with a small smile. “For another,” he continued, “I can provide the best sort of distraction.”

His voice dipped as he spoke, turning husky, and she pushed herself away, just enough for him to touch her under her chin. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and she kissed the pad of his thumb when it brushed over her lips.

“Well,” she murmured with a smile. “That _does_ sound marvelous.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “But?” he murmured, and her smile faltered.

“But I think –” She shook her head as her gaze dropped. “I don’t think any sort of distraction would work right now. I just…”

Cullen let out a soft sound and drew her down to bed. He tucked the blankets around them and pulled her against his chest, and she curled up against him, her face once more buried against his neck. They remained like that for a long moment, just twined together and breathing, until he kissed her forehead.

“Perhaps if you talk about it,” he murmured, and she looked up at him before she touched her forehead to his. “Would that help?”

“You have troubles enough of your own, Cullen, ones that are greater and far more horrific than my own,” she replied and she bumped her nose against his while he made a sound at the back of his throat. “I have no desire to overburden you.”

“My mother always said, a burden shared is a burden halved,” he said as he reached up and ran his fingertip along her jaw. “It took me a long time to understand truly what she meant, and even then, I never fully grasped it until I met you.” He kissed the tip of Evelyn’s nose. “So I want you to hear me when I say this. Nothing you tell me would be a burden. _You_ are not a burden, and nor will you ever be.”

She closed her eyes, even as he saw tears gather at the corners. A few slid down her cheeks, and he clicked his tongue and brushed at them. “Evelyn… oh, my Evelyn, what haunts you so? Tell me,” he said, and she sat up.

“Nothing but my own fears,” she said as she swiped at her eyes. “Which are already well-documented between us.” He sat up and pressed his arm against hers, and she looked up at him as she leaned back against him.

“I promise you,” she murmured. “I promise, Cullen, that you know what I dreamt about.” She shook her head. “There is nothing new to tell.”

He looked at her, studied her profile, and he reached out and ran his fingers along her spine as she wiped at her eyes. She collected herself, and he leaned in and kissed her temple. She smiled slightly and she tucked herself against Cullen when he wrapped both his arms around her.

“In my experience,” he murmured as he rested his cheek atop her head, “the Fade is especially good at twisting fears until they are something else new entirely.” He glanced down at her as she hummed. “Do you agree?”

She nodded slightly and sighed. “Yes, I do. I do agree,” she replied, and she shook her head before she continued. “You recall what happened at Adamant Fortress. How the bridge crumpled out from underneath us? I dreamt I was too slow in opening a rift, and…”

Cullen pulled her closer and a tremble went through her. “You didn’t fail,” he said into her hair. “Evelyn…”

“Rationally, I know I did not. I know we fell into the Fade, and all is well. But…” Her voice caught and he squeezed her gently. “Oh _Cullen,_ it was _you._ I saw you falling, and I tried… but no one would let me. They grabbed me and held me fast and –”

He sucked in a breath. _“Evelyn,”_ he murmured as she shook. He clasped her hand and placed it in the middle of his chest, right over his heart. “If I were truly falling off the side of an ancient fortress, no one would stop you from attempting to save me. In fact, and I certainly _hope,_ that they would be right there with you.”

She looked up at him with a small smile, one that did not quite reach her eyes. “I know it’s foolish,” she said with a shake of her head. “I know. It was a nightmare.”

“It is not foolish,” he said as he pressed his lips together, and her shoulders slumped before she reached up and cupped his face.

“I finally _have you,”_ she whispered, and a _jolt_ went through him at her fierce tone. His heartbeat skipped and picked up, and he covered her hands with his own. “Cullen, I will not _lose you._ Not now. Not so _soon…”_

He met her gaze as he slid one hand up and down her arm, fingertips ghosting over the gooseflesh that pebbled her skin, and his breath caught. Oh, she was beautiful like this. Her eyes bright and determined, her cheeks flushed – he swallowed as she leaned closer.

_“Cullen…”_

He closed the distance between them and _kissed_ her.

She gasped out as their lips met, and she threw her arms around him before she threw a leg over him and settled into his lap. He groaned out, arching up against her; he slid his hands along her back, before he settled on her hips, and he pulled her closer as they kissed.

“I think…” she breathed out between kisses, “I think I – mm – I think I’m ready for that distraction now.”

He chuckled as he nipped at her lips. _“Good,”_ he said before he flipped them, and his heart thrilled at the sight of her spread beneath him. He grinned down at her and she slid her hands up his chest as she looked at him through her lashes.

She reached up and pulled him into another kiss…

***


End file.
